


The Ugly Duckling of Dol Amroth

by Spake2121



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Anti-Hero, Courtship, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Drama, Female Anti-Hero, Lothiriel behaving badly, Original Character(s), Personal Growth, Romance, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 12:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 132,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19318675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spake2121/pseuds/Spake2121
Summary: My name is Lothiriel of Dol Amroth. Though my reputation for truth is somewhat tarnished I swear that every word of this tale, the most important of my life, is true...





	1. Chapter 1

The Complete History of Dol Amroth (volume seven of the third edition) missed blackening Amrothos' eye by a matter of inches and, flying out the door, skittered across the stone hallway to its final resting place against the far wall. He looked impressed. I wasn't the kind of girl to usually throw things that weren't insults. I sighed and grinned. "Sorry, Amrothos but if you're just going to hang around and blather on about something I can't change and don't really care about, I will probably just keep throwing things at you."

"No, its fine," my brother smirked. "It's good training to fit in with our new in-laws I suppose. Go get volume eight over there and see if you can really land one."

But I just flopped face down on my bed, letting my arms splay out to either side so I looked like I'd drowned in the blankets. "Oh, absolutely keep talking about that...it's just what I want," I said, voice muffled.

In just a few days our cousin Faramir would be marrying Lady Éowyn of Rohan. Today a contingent of Rohirrim was due to arrive, our future cousin-in-law among them. Amrothos, usually quite strident in his anti-Rohan sentiments anyway, had worked himself into such a lather this morning I was surprised he hadn't started foaming at the mouth.

"It's disgusting," he continued as if he hadn't heard me. "What do Faramir and that Ranger King think they are playing? Faramir is the Steward of Gondor and the Rohirrim are practically savages. The marriage is so far beneath him it's laughable."

I rolled my head to the side so my voice wasn't muffled in my mattress. "Well...I've heard it's a love match," I said simply.

"Don't talk to me about that viscous rumor," Amrothos snapped. "As if someone of our blood could fall in love with a Rohirrim. Bed the wench sure; get her with a bastard son fine; but marry her? The meanest scullery maid in Gondor would make a better marriage than this barbarian."

I shrugged into the mattress. "This particular barbarian apparently saved our father's life at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields and slew the Witch King of Angmar. Besides, times are changing. Rohan is our new ally."

"Oh, would you stop it Lothíriel?" he asked flatly. "This new thing of talking of the blood of Gondor as if it meant nothing is a fad. By next spring people when people realize this Ranger King is no heir to our throne they'll remember why we kept the bloodlines pure for all these centuries."

"I wouldn't let father hear you talking like that," I said simply. "He thinks King Elessar will be the salvation of Gondor, and the alliance with Rohan too."

There had always been two halves of the house of Dol Amroth that had never quite fitted together to make a whole. On one side there was my father and my brothers Elphir and Erchirion. They were trained Swan Knights who had fought in the Ring War and they were the kind of proud, hard, noble men that stories are written about. And then there was Amrothos and me. We had been sent to foster with Denethor when I was five and he was ten and court life was all we knew. Amrothos knew how to wield a sword well enough for some very formal duelling exercises and I had been taught all about honor and courtesy and other suitable qualities for a lady. But these were theoretical exercises. What was most important to us was making sure that we kept our places in the hierarchy of the court, which had always required a lot of extremely dishonourable conduct.

I can't blame Denethor for my sharp tongue. According to my aunt I'd come by that honestly through my mother. But I was never encouraged to learn to control it. I used it like a weapon, and indiscriminately. I would shout at my maids in the morning and then slash at the honor and self-esteem of some of my closest friends in the afternoon.

But then had come Pelennor Fields. Amrothos, like most of the young nobility of the court of Denethor, had retreated back to various strongholds to wait the battle out. I had made the decision to stay flippantly. I'd been quarrelling with Amrothos the morning we were supposed to leave and I'd declared that I would, as I'd shouted rather emphatically at him "rather die than spend a couple of months with him locked away in some Valar-cursed mountain castle." If there had been anyone responsible for us they would surely have made me leave. But Denethor kept little track of the two of us and we were free to come and go as we pleased. When I simply stayed, no one questioned my decision.

By the time I realized the mistake I had made it was too late for me to leave, though for a day I had demanded over and over that someone let me. For a day I had felt wronged and I'd sobbed and sobbed at the injustice of it. I wasn't a peasant or a warrior. It seemed somehow unfair that I should die as if my life meant nothing and I had said as much to some of the household staff who had been forced to remain as well when I had decided to stay. Over the next few days most of the staff were pressed into service: the men to bolster the fighting ranks and the women to help at the Houses of Healing.

When Feleas, my handmaiden, had come to tell me that she too was leaving for the Houses of Healing I had gone with her, too scared to be alone. At first I had simply sat on a stool in the corner, gathering my skirts elegantly around me as if that could protect me from the smell of blood and the screaming. When finally one of the healers had roughly commanded me to come and help her carry in a man who had an arrow through his chest I had been so stunned it hadn't even occurred to me to snap that I would have her whipped if she addressed me without my title and in that tone again. I'd simply slipped my shoulders under the man's arm, his blood spilling down my dress.

And I found that the work helped me keep my mind from spinning into the abyss of panic that had taken it over for days. When all my energy and attention were turned to the dying around me I found it was easier not to imagine my own death somehow. And sleep, which had seemed impossible, came the second that my head touched a cot. By the second day I had forgotten somehow that I was a lady. I was just a pair of hands in the Houses of Healing, no cleaner or less useful than any others. I helped carry the sick. I gave succor to the dying. And by the time it was all over I found that some part of myself had died too.

When the siege lifted and hope and life flooded back into the city and back into my mind I felt as if I woke to a new world. Or perhaps not a new world but a new girl, who had woken inside me. I had read in a book somewhere that after being hit on the head sometimes people experienced a kind of forgetfulness so complete they couldn't remember their own name or the faces of their loved ones. I felt that I had experienced the same thing, though not of facts and faces but rather of motivation and pleasure. The things I used to enjoy: the gossip of the court, scoring a victory over the other ladies, treachery, intrigue and scandal now left me somehow revolted. I couldn't quite remember what I had liked about my life.

The night after the siege broke Feleas and I had gone out to the tavern together, both dressed in her clothes, and we had drank and danced and laughed with the other healers. I had thought that I would always feel the way that I did and nothing would ever be complicated again. But then Amrothos had come back to Minas Tirith and all the ladies of the court too and of course everything had gone back to exactly the way it was before...or almost.

As if conjured by my thoughts, Feleas appeared at my door to help me dress. She stood meekly behind Amrothos, waiting for us to acknowledge her. "Good morning, Feleas," I said, sitting up.

"Good morning, my lady," she said. "I have come to help you dress for the procession into the city. Have you selected what you would like to wear?"

I went to my closet and opened it. Inside was an explosion of bright silk and satin dresses, scarves, cloaks, gloves, shoes and jewellery. I loved nice clothes and dressing up. I loved the feel of expensive fabric moving over my skin almost as much as I loved knowing that people were watching the way it does. I selected a dark blue satin dress with a simple cut of short sleeves and a long skirt that rippled around my legs when I walked in a way that made them look even longer than they were.

Amrothos rolled his eyes theatrically. "Yes, thank the servant for doing her duty. Who do you think you are, Lothi? Some boring wench from the stories with a heart of gold. Why don't you just go wash the lepers in the Houses of Healing?"

I had never told Amrothos what had happened during the siege. He would never understand what had happened to me. Likely he would use it against me. I sighed. "Yes Amrothos...if I have one fault that really stands out it's my overwhelming benevolence and charity. Now get out of my rooms while I change."

"Fine. But do hurry up. If I have to sit alone with Elphir and Erchirion for too long while we wait for these horse-people to arrive I'm likely to die of boredom."

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," I agreed impatiently. "Now get out or I won't come at all."

Feleas helped me dress quickly, cinching the tight bodice of the dress closely and helping me find the matching kid-gloves and some silver slipper-shoes. She pulled my hair back into a simple bun and fastened it with a silver clip. "You look well, my lady," she said when she had finished.

"Thank you," I said. "I'm sorry about Amrothos by the way. I asked him to stop but he just told me that I might as well ask him not to sit on any of my chairs. He can be...difficult I know, especially to...to..."

Feleas waved me off. "Please, my lady." If I had managed to find a finish to that sentence she wouldn't have been able to find an appropriate response anyway so we let it lie.

To get over the awkward moment Feleas presented me with the garland of flowers she had woven for me to give to King Éomer. It was a traditional gift of welcome. She had done it beautifully. It was white daisies interspersed with blushing purple tulips.

I made my way down into the main courtyard of the castle where most of the nobles of Gondor had already arranged themselves to greet our guests. I found my family had claimed a position of high honor, just to the left of King Elessar and Queen Arwen. My father spotted me and waved me over impatiently.

"There you are, Lothíriel," he said sharply. "Where have you been?"  
I curtseyed deeply. "I apologize, my lord," I said, offering no explanation.

My brother Erchirion gave me with a smile. "Your garland looks lovely Lothíriel. I'm sure Éomer King will like it the best of all the ladies."

I smiled at him. "I'll tell Feleas you said so," I forced myself to say. "She wove it for me."

"You didn't weave your own garland?" my father asked sharply. Traditionally the ladies of the court were meant to weave them with their own hands as a sign of respect.

I tried to keep smiling though I was blushing furiously. "Well, I am afraid I never learned, Father. I didn't want to shame us by giving my first attempt to such an important visitor. If you like this one Erchirion, I'll be sure to ask Feleas how to duplicate it."

I had always been scared of my father. He was a great man and he saw right through me. Most honorable people are blinded by their own goodness. That well of human kindness in them looks for its mirror in other people. They never see people like me coming because they never seem to quite understand how we can be the way that we are. It can be a really fantastic tactical advantage. But it wasn't true of my father. Who I pretended to be around him was a facade and he'd always known just what was underneath. He was a great man, as I say, but I think it also takes a certain kind of hardness to look at your own daughter and find her wanting, even if it is true.

"That was awfully honest of you, Lothíriel," Amrothos said pointedly. "Don't you think Lothíriel is being quite brave by telling the truth about where her garland came from, father?"

Amrothos' true message was easy enough to decipher. I only had to replace honest with stupid and brave by foolish. But neither my father nor my other brothers seemed to hear it. For some reason Amrothos' act had gone over better with the rest of the family than mine had. He had chosen the character of a sickening, cloying, pathetic sycophant that I wished I'd had the good sense to mimic. He was so repugnant to the rest of my family they never bothered to inspect his behaviour too closely.

"Well yes I suppose so," my father said reluctantly.

I told myself I didn't care what my father thought. What did it matter to me if he knew that I considered gathering flowers beneath my station? Until a few months ago, I had. And really, I didn't know this Rohirrim King, why did I owe him the favor of weaving him a garland anyway? It was ridiculous to feel ashamed about it, I assured myself. I stared out ahead of myself and made sure to keep any trace of apology off my features.

"Why do you say, ÉomerKing?" I asked Erchirion casually. "I've noticed that you always call him that and not King Éomer like you call King Elessar, King Elessar."

"In Rohirric the name comes first. The riders of Rohan almost always translate it in that way when they speak in Westron. I suppose I picked the habit up from them when we were riding together," he explained.

"Oh, that's interesting," I lied. "Is it very different...Rohirric I mean?"

He shrugged. "I never learned much past the greetings."

I chatted some with Erchirion as we waited for the procession to arrive. I pointed out various ladies of the court and told him funny anecdotes about them while he laughed. He was just as honorable and brave as my father and Elphir but he was much easier to talk to. He wasn't stern like they were and he thought I was funny. He wasn't as easy to make laugh as Amrothos, he wouldn't like my meaner jokes, but it meant more to me when he did.

But then the fanfare began, letting us know that the procession was approaching and making conversation impossible. I had seen a thousand processions before and I was surprised to find that this one was somehow impressive. It wasn't particularly elegant, in fact it was evident that the riders had ridden hard that day and though their banners were high and never wavered, they looked dirty and tired. But it is true that the Rohirrim are all excellent horsemen and that, as well as their fierce pride, was in abundant display. Each rider looked like he carried the dignity of his kingdom on his saddle with him. I found suddenly and wholly unexpectedly, that my heart was beating high in my chest again but this time with the strange, agonizing emotion of a truly moving sight. I hadn't been expecting that at all. As a child I had been moved by the ideas of honor and glory but that had been years ago. And I had made so many compromises since then.

Keeping my voice low enough that I was sure Amrothos couldn't hear, I whispered to Erchirion, "They are quite impressive, aren't they?"

"You should have seen Éomer charge the Nazgul at Pelennor Fields. I thought my heart would burst at the joyful glory of it," he said.

"I would have liked to see that," I said, surprising myself when I realized that it was true.

"But which one is the king?" I began to ask but then my eyes found Éomer for the first time and the question died on my lips. His armor was no finer than any of the other riders. Neither was his horse any grander and there was no crown on his head. But there didn't need to be. This was a man who needed only the aura of his command to crown him. His helm was off and I could see his long blond hair lying over his shoulders but he was too far away to make out his eyes or his features. He was powerfully built I could see, even through his armor. I would learn later that Éomer was called the Lion of Rohan long before I ever saw him but that morning it was a lion I thought of too: a powerful predator with a shining mane of golden hair.

The riders rode into the main square of Minas Tirith and to a standstill in front of King Elessar. The King of Rohan dismounted and strode up the few steps to where the King and Queen of Gondor waited for him on a small platform. He swept a very shallow but respectful bow to Elessar. "King Elessar," Éomer's voice rang through the square like thunder and for some reason it made my muscles twitch slightly. "Well met, old friend. We have come to escort my lady sister Éowyn to her wedding to Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor."

"Hail, Éomer King," King Elessar replied, coming to take the other man's hands in his own in what was a genuine gesture of affection, his voice almost larger than life as well. "Gondor is honored to receive our friends from the north. You and your men are always welcome friends in my hall."

There were some speeches next by King Elessar first and then Éomer and finally Faramir and Éowyn were formally presented to each other. I had intended to watch them carefully for any signs that it had been a love match, planning to tease Amrothos with it later. But they spoiled it by embracing so tenderly and staring at each other, almost doe-eyed during the whole ceremony. I might have well have teased Amrothos that the sky was blue or that he would always be shorter than King Elessar.

For some reason it made my heart hurt slightly looking at them. I had never seen two people so obviously in love and it made me kindle with a sad, distant envy.

The next morning I woke before my breakfast was sent to my room. I told Faleas not to bother heating my bath water or bringing my breakfast. I put on a light, charcoal gray cotton dress, splashed some water on my face and went down to the stables for the first time in almost seven months.

I didn't like riding. I didn't like anything I wasn't good at almost immediately. I did sort of like horses however. They had a good attitude towards the world, I felt: not overly haughty like cats and not overly friendly like dogs. Also they seemed like fairly clean animals when they were properly groomed and intelligent as well. I had once seen a horse absolutely refuse to let Amrothos mount him when he was stumbling drunk. Not many of the maids in Minas Tirith could boast those kinds of brains. And I had heard that the horses of Rohan were without comparison the best horses in the world.

I hadn't expected to be the only one who had thought to come to the stables that morning but even I was surprised by the amount of people milling around. It wasn't even fully light and already the men of Rohan were cleaning and saddling their mounts, running them around the small paddocks around the stables. And to my even greater surprise, Erchirion was standing at the far end of the hall talking with a knot of Rohirrim.

I had been momentarily embarrassed by the fact that I was the only Gondorian who had taken the trouble to come so I was relieved to effect to saunter down the length of the stables to Erchirion. "Oh!" he said when he saw me. "Hello, Lothíriel! How are you this morning?"

"Fine. And you?"

"Oh, just fine."

There was an awkward moment of silence as he looked at me, puzzled. "Well, I've come to see these famous horses of Rohan but perhaps you could introduce me to your friends first," I suggested.

That seemed to snap him back into the present. "Yes, of course, how rude of me," he said quickly. "This is my sister Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. Lothíriel this is Elfhelm, Chief Marshall of the East Mark, Eodain of the Eastern Mark and Éomer King."

I hadn't noticed the king among all his riders, most of whom were almost as strapping and blond as he was. Up close he was handsome in a strange sort of way. The fashion of the moment was very pale skin and dark, fine, delicate features. Éomer was none of those. His skin was tanned from the sun and his already bright hair was brilliant gold. His features were rough and sharp and lupine, except perhaps for his mouth which was slightly softer under his beard. But somehow I found him more appealing than the polite, dapper look of the most handsome Gondorian lords. It was compelling somehow in a way I found interesting.

I curtseyed lower to him than I had to his lords and he returned it with a polite bow and brushed a kiss across the back of my hand, in the style of Gondor. It was up to him to speak first and he said, "You honor us with your interest Princess of Dol Amroth. Are you interest in horses?"

"I can stay on a horse to be sure, my lord." I said, trying for diplomacy. "Though I would never claim to ride well to a Rohirrim." Ortoanyoneelseifitcametoit, I added silently.

"I am sure you are too modest, Princess," he said gallantly.

"I very rarely am. But if you're sure..." I said with a mocking smile.

For a moment there was a dark look on his face and I remembered, belatedly, that kings and legends rarely have senses of humor and certainly don't take to being mocked. "Yes," he said very rather stiffly.

"We were just going to go watch Éomer put Firefoot through his morning paces," Erchirion said quickly to smooth over the moment. "Why don't you come with us, Lothíriel?"

"Oh, I'd like that very much," I said. "If you don't mind that is, my lord." I added to Éomer

"Most welcome," he said, again very stiffly.

The rest of us walked to the paddock while Éomer went to saddle his horse. "The king saddles his own horse then?" I asked Éomer when he joined us.

"Every man in Rohan saddles his own horse, my lady," he replied, sounding even tarter than before. "We believe that a man who doesn't take care of his own horse doesn't deserve ride him."

His tone of voice made me want to snap. Did the women or Rohan braid their own hair? I wanted to ask. Did the mothers midwife their own births? Did the king have any squires or did he have to muck out the entire royal stable himself? Did the injured amputate their own limbs and did anyone eat anything they hadn't grown themselves?

What an absurd, pretentious tradition, I thought.

But instead I smiled serenely at him. "A man who doesn't take care of his own horse doesn't deserve to ride him." I repeated musingly. "Rohan must be a very logical place." And again Éomer seemed to catch my mocking tone and take it like a slap across the face. His features became even more firmly set.

The pretention seemed less absurd a moment later when Éomer led his horse out into the paddock and began to exercise it. Rider and horse moved together in a way I had never seen before and it was all I could do not to gape. They seemed born to do what they were doing and born to do it together. They moved as a single body through an increasingly complex series of movements that eventually involved several other riders moving together through a mock battle. Éomer seemed indifferent to the crowd watching him.

"It's quite a bit more impressive than I'd even hoped for," I remarked to Erchirion as we watched.

"I'm glad you aren't disappointed," he said with a grin.

I shook my head, a confused look spreading across my face. "How could I be? They don't even seem to be separate beings and it's as graceful as any dance."

When the horses finally tired the riders wound down and dismounted, moving back towards the stables. In spite of my earlier disdain, I was impressed that the king took the tack off his own mount. Putting it on was slightly glamorous. It let you claim that you were responsible for your own horse without ever having to touch anything sweaty. Taking the tack off seemed a little less pretentious, less like a meaningless gesture. "We would be pleased if you would join us for breakfast," Elfhelm said as we walked back to the stables. "I'm afraid it won't be anything as elegant as what you are used to," here he didn't disguise a glance in my direction, "but it will fill a hungry belly."

The sun was already high and I was accustomed to taking breakfast much earlier. Erchirion glanced at me. "Oh that would be wonderful," I said brightly.

'Less elegant than I was accustomed to' I felt was something of an understatement. The riders spread some clean hay on the ground and laid spare saddle blankets over them in the far corner of the stable. The blankets hadn't been washed recently and they were covered with hair. I'm sure I could have smelled the dirt and sweat on them if we hadn't been in the stable where the only possible smell was dung and horses. Erchirion glanced at me as I surveyed our seating arrangements but I kept my face placid. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was sit down but it was too late to back off so the best thing to do was to just make the best of it. I held out my hand and Erchirion helped me to kneel down on the blankets. I'd have to remember to apologize to Feleas later, I thought as I settled my skirts around me, trying to keep them out of the worst of the muck. I would also have to remember to take the long way so as not to pass by Amrothos' chambers smelling like I did on my way back or I would never hear the end of it.

The riders went to fetch our fare while Erchirion and I, as guests, waited.

"I was surprised to see you here this morning, Lothíriel," he said when we were alone.

"Why?" I said. "I mentioned to you at the feast I had intended to come."

He nodded. "Yes, most of the nobles will come. But later in the afternoon when there will be something of a formal tour for King Elessar. Why get up early to come alone?"

"Snobbery, I'm sure," I avowed. "I wanted a private tour."

The truth was I wasn't sure myself. Perhaps it had been all the glittering helms and the romance of the procession the night before. I wasn't a girl who was used to having her heart beat fast in her chest, not for any reason. I thought perhaps that I had wanted to confirm that it had been just a fluke. Without the grandeur of the situation—the first meeting of two Kings and friends during peace time in front of a cheering, exuberant crowd—I had been sure that I would feel nothing. But quite the contrary, the Rohirrim had seemed somehow even more impressive that morning, stripped of their finery and the ceremony of a formal welcome. I had expected to become bored, as I always did at jousts or tournaments, but I had watched for almost three hours without feeling time pass at all. A fact that I felt was oddly disconcerting.

He nodded, but looked at me with a strangely intense expression that I met with blank, docile eyes.

When the riders came back Éomer King came with them. They were bearing a large basket with a teacloth over it and a jug that proved to be coffee. I braced myself to compliment whatever came out of the basket and then to break it into small bits and pretend to eat it. But when they opened the basket the aroma that came out was heavenly. The biscuits were made with walnuts and honey and dried cherries and cooked light and fluffy but somehow filling. The coffee was strong and aromatic but not at all bitter or pungent.

I felt much better after I had drunk a little and eaten a biscuit and a half.

"You ride uncommonly well, King Éomer," I said conversationally as I sipped my coffee.

"As King of Rohan I could hardly be expected to ride poorly," he said sharply. "My lady," he added, once he realized how bluntly he had spoken.

To my surprise Erchirion spoke up on my behalf. "I think my sister meant to compliment you, my lord," he said, his voice a soft rebuke.

To my even further surprise the king looked uncomfortable. "Yes, of course. Forgive me, Lady Lothíriel. That was most ungracious of me."

That was an unexpected turn of events. Somehow I seemed to have gotten the best of the honor of the situation. Getting the best of a situation was nothing new to me but no one I sported with traded in the currency of honor. And Erchirion had defended me. Why had he done that? He knew what my reputation at court was. He had ridden with King Éomer at Pelennor fields. And I knew just from this morning that my honor was a single drop in an ocean compared to his. How was it that I had gotten tossed up on the moral high ground like a cast away?

"Nothing at all to forgive, my lord. None of us can be expected to be perfect...not before coffee at any rate," I said lightly.

It was a strange, new place for me to be—in the right that is—and I savored it so much that I didn't say much for the rest of the meal for fear that I lose my advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted here at the request of SavioBriion! Please leave me a note to let me know what you think! Reviews make me write faster I promise. And thanks as always to my amazing beta reader Lady Bluejay.


	2. Chapter 2

There are very few things in the world that give pleasure like a new dress. This one was a dark, sapphire-blue silk piece with long, fitted sleeves and a bodice inlaid with accents of lighter crushed velvet. It was high in the front, almost to my neck, but dipped in the back to show a nearly scandalous amount of flesh Feleas had piled my hair high and to the side so that not an inch of pale skin was concealed. As I descended the stairs to where Amrothos waited in the lobby, I enjoyed the feeling of extra sensitivity that always came when I felt I looked my best. The air seemed richer, the wood of the banister smoother and the light softer.

Amrothos was dressed in a silver tunic with the crest of Dol Amroth on it and he too looked uncommonly well.

"Oh, good you're here finally," he said when he saw me.

"You look uncommonly well, Amrothos," I said gently, feeling very at peace with the whole world, including Amrothos.

"Don't talk like that. It's annoying," he snapped. "I need to tell you what I heard about Lady Winweld."

"Oh?" That did perk my attention.

Lady Winweld was such an elegant, gracious, honorable simpering little bore of a rule-follower that I couldn't remember ever hearing any gossip about her at all. She was almost impossible to talk to as well, having very little sense of humor and very little to say about anything that wasn't the weather, her sewing sampler and some very well considered political opinions that were entirely her father's.

"Apparently she's angling to marry the King of Rohan!" Amrothos burst out. "I heard that she went to the stables this afternoon with the Ranger King and she was fawning all over him, the little doe. It was all—'how big the horses are, my lord' and 'how brave in battle you were, my lord' and 'I hear Rohan gets ever so cold in winter but I should love to see it for myself someday if you catch my drift, my lord.'" He threw back his head and laughed. "Can you believe it?"

I cocked my head to the side for a second and considered. "Yes, actually. That makes a lot of sense to me."

"What?" Amrothos almost choked on his laughter.

"I think they'd make each other happy," I said with a shrug. "I mean he can ride around Rohan all day while she darns his socks and cooks him dinner. And then they can sit down and have a solemn conversation about how lovely and respectable their whole lives are until they both die of boredom. I don't know which one of them will be more pleased with the arrangement."

"You can't be serious. It would be like breeding a wolf with a lap dog! She'd die of fright on their wedding night if not from the ensuing physical damage," he spat out with a laugh.

"It's a good political move for Lord Winweld too," I went on. "I keep reminding you that you're nearly alone in your opinion of Rohan these days. I bet a dozen Ladies will be vying to win King Éomer's affections this week. After all Queen of Rohan is still Queen of Something."

Amrothos rolled his eyes. "Women are absolutely idiotic sometimes."

"That's very true." I said. "But men are almost always, so we still come out ahead."

"You shop that swill somewhere else, Lothi. You aren't called the weaker sex for nothing."

"We aren't called the fairer sex for nothing either. Women are at least willing to acknowledge that men have some redeeming qualities. I've never known a man in my life to say anything nice about womankind in general," I countered with a cheeky grin.

"It's fairer as in lovelier, not as in more just, and you know it. Pun is the lowest form of comedy. Especially when there is no punch-line except a high-handed edict about the superiority of your own sex."

By then we were walking up towards the Citadel. On such a lovely evening the dancing would be outside Merethrond, and not inside. Except for one of my father's guards, we were alone, as out of the men of my family only Amrothos had been willing to wait until I finished my coiffure. The part of Minas Tirith where my father kept quarters was almost entirely deserted, all of our noble neighbors must have already left for the celebration, but when we reached the main way the streets were abundantly alive. The smell of produce that had fallen into the gutter over the day, the shouts of the drunken men in the taverns, and the warm lamplight in the houses seemed distant though somehow, almost masked by my finery like a fire seen through a thin cloth.

However, once we ascended to the Citadel, the riot of color and sound in the courtyard that greeted us outside Merethrond was undiminished. Lamps hung everywhere, lighting up the darkness and making the hall seem impossibly festive. Women in beautiful dresses were everywhere with men attending them, asking them to dance or bringing them refreshments. The finery that had set me apart from the commoners made me feel at home with the nobles.

Amrothos went to fetch us some wine, and I went to look for my lord father and brothers. I found them towards the steps of the great hall. I was hoping to greet them quickly and then hurry away. It was required that I spend some time with them but none of them are much fun at parties really, and I was hoping to make only a quick appearance.

To my dismay I found that I recognized the blond hair of the man in the group whose back was to me. What was he doing talking to my father and brothers? He was meant to be off stalking a Gondorian wife with all his finely tuned hunting instincts. There were no marriageable girls in my family—not even a single distant and distinguished cousin he could be hoped to be introduced to—so what was he doing here?

And it was wretchedly inconvenient. I could hardly greet the King of Rohan and then quickly dash away. My father might tolerate a little rudeness to be rid of me quickly, but not in front of a foreign king. But there was no helping it, Elphir had already spotted me and waved.

"Ah, Father, you look charming this evening." I cooed as I approached. "Just utterly charming."

"Thank you, Daughter. You look as lovely as ever," he said, giving me a brief, formal embrace.

I curtseyed to Éomer. "Ah, King Éomer, so good to see you again so soon."

"You as well, my lady," he replied, bowing and kissing my hand.

"You've met my daughter?" my father asked.

"She came this morning with her brother Elphir to watch the horses being exercised," Éomer said.

"Oh...I see." Father was never a very good actor and he didn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "I never knew you were very interested in horses, Lothiriel. The one I bought you as a girl always had to be exercised by the stable boys."

"Ah yes...I remember that horse. Black wasn't she?"

"Gray actually."

I did remember the horse really. She was a pretty little gray mare named Sea Breeze, with a soft, cream-colored mane and a nice, even temper. He'd bought her for me the single summer when Amrothos and I had come back to Dol Amroth. I'd hardly ever ridden her because I'd broken my arm a few weeks before and it was almost impossible to use the reins. But I'd gone to visit her almost every day and to brush her and play with her. It didn't make sense to bring her back to the city. Amrothos didn't ride so I would have no suitable chaperone and therefore no occasion to use her. And we'd been so horrible that summer to my father and to the castle staff that we hadn't been invited back the next summer. Who knows if I would have liked her after a few years—I had always been fickle with my toys—but I had loved her quite desperately that summer.

Why had I done that? I wondered as I looked up at my father's expression of vague, resigned disappointment. Why would explaining that I'd had a broken arm the one time I'd ever owned a horse feel like an excuse? Why was it so much easier to simply be the daughter I had been before the war? I had wanted to meet the Rohirrim that morning in the stables, too. But once I had said something that had gotten misconstrued I had gone on the defensive and made everything so much worse. I was working hard on being a better person—braver, kinder and humbler. But only humble after my own fashion. I was willing to humble myself to Feleas partly because I had wronged her so obviously. But also because she had never expected it of me; because she wasn't stern and proud and perhaps even because I had nothing to gain from it. But I couldn't quite bring myself to apologize to a man whose forgiveness would mean so much to me and who was so reluctant to give it.

The conversation turned for a time back to what they had been discussing before I had arrived: It appeared that Éomer was buying a rather enormous consignment of grain from Gondor and most especially from Dol Amroth. Rohan had been almost burned to the ground in some places during the war and I knew and it would take years before they could produce enough grain to feed all their people. They were talking about transport—wagons, ships, even the Dimholt—about security from various threats (notably the wild men, who had mostly been smashed but were still prominent near what had been Isenguard) and payment and various other things. I let my mind wander and peered at my glass of wine, thinking about the sun flashing in a black mane and a golden mane.

"Lothíriel?" My father's sharp voice brought me back to the conversation. "Erchirion asked you a question."

I laughed lightly. "Oh sorry, Erchirion. What did you want to know?"

"I wanted to know what you thought about the riding this morning," he repeated.

I shrugged. "It was quite good I suppose," I said lightly.

"Well, she certainly seemed interested in horses this morning," Elphir said with a knowing grin. "I don't think she blinked once the whole time."

"A passing fancy I'm sure. It's always interesting to see a true master practice his skill," I said. "It's enough to make anyone fall in love with it for a morning or two."

"A true master? You flatter me, Lady Lothíriel," the King said with a tight, restrained smile, sounding none too happy to be flattered. "But tell me...what in your life isn't a passing fancy?"

It was a clumsy, unpracticed jab. There was not real fight or menace or bitterness in his tone. But with beginners luck he had somehow managed to hit quite close to a bulls-eye with it. There was nothing in my life that I wouldn't sell for the right price, and I knew it. But what I had learned over the years was that with a blow that close to the mark the only thing to do was to lean into it. "Well, I've always flattered myself that I keep an exceedingly nice wardrobe..." I began with a small, self-deprecating smile.

"Books." The voice came from behind me.

I turned around to find Amrothos holding two glasses of wine, one of which he passed to me, before bowing to the king. "Good evening, Father, good evening, King Éomer. I am really so glad to meet you finally after all the wonderful talk I've heard about you," he said sycophantically.

"Éomer this is my youngest son, Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth," my father said.

"I am pleased to meet you as well, Amrothos," the King replied. "But what were you saying about books?"

Amrothos smiled. "Ah yes, Lothíriel has always been an avid reader."

"Oh, that hardly counts." I waved him off. "Everyone likes to read from time to time."

Amrothos laughed. "Not me! Besides, I've seen you read books I'm convinced no one but the librarian has touched in years. Not everyone likes to read Treaties on the Surface and Volume of Shapes or Farming Techniques of the Haradrim Highlands."

Amrothos wasn't lying. I love to read and always have. I'm only mediocre with a needle, and I'm completely indifferent at cooking, musical instruments of all kinds, arranging furniture, flowers pillows or marriages, but reading I really enjoy. Never one for false modesty, modesty of any ilk really, I had always known I was intelligent and had always been innately ashamed of it, as most intelligent women are. Amrothos had been particularly careful never to let me forget that it was not something to be proud of. But he needn't had bothered – no one had ever needed to tell me it was unbecoming, unladylike... masculine, I had simply known.

I didn't blush, but my face seemed to tighten somehow. Still, I forced myself to be relaxed as I sipped my wine and said slowly, "The library is one of the few places in the city that is very rarely crowded. And there is a very decent wine shop down the street."

Amrothos grinned at that, knowing it was a weak excuse but that I had no other. "And what about you, King Éomer? Are you a reader?" The gentlest inflection in the world turned the question into a mocking insult, though I was the only one to notice.

"I'm ashamed to say I'm not. Éowyn used to say that the only time I ever spent in the library was either because our tutors had dragged me there by the ear or because some girl had dragged me there by the ..." he trailed off suddenly.

I didn't have to look at Amrothos' face to know the look of frozen, quiet, hideous victory that was there. To cover the awkward moment Elphir cut in, "I was never a reader myself either. I could never seem to drag myself in there if there was a horse to be ridden or a bout to be fought! It's a vice to be sure, but perhaps not the worst."

"A balance is what should be struck in my opinion," Amrothos said. "A well-shaped person should be able to do a little of everything. Lothíriel here for example is quite fond of dancing and she's often told that she does it charmingly. I'm sure she would love to show you some time, my lord."

That last part was true of course but what maiden isn't told that she dances charmingly? In fact I was rather an indifferent dancer. I liked it well enough and I didn't trip or stumble or make a fool of myself but neither was I especially elegant or talented.

Éomer turned to me. "Would you do the honor, my lady?"

I glanced at his hands and for a second I wanted to say yes. There was something about how big they were—almost twice the size of my own it seemed—that made me want to feel them pressed against my own palm, circled around my waist and guiding me across the floor. I laughed. "Oh, no, my lord, you don't want to share your first dance with me. Think how disappointed all the other maidens would be. I'd have to get someone to taste my porridge for poison tomorrow before I eat it. Perhaps after a few songs..."

"Lothíriel!" my father cut in, voice suddenly sharp. "Are you refusing our guest a dance?"

I almost sighed. The idiots thought I was trying to snub him out of a dance; that I was refusing to dance with him because he was from Rohan.

I couldn't very well explain that it because I had a reputation for being a sneaky, backstabbing gossip monger. I couldn't very well say that he should dance the first dance with some girl who was a marriageable prospect, someone respectable. I couldn't say that opening the dance with me was not the message Éomer wanted to send. "My lord..." I began but stopped short when I heard the almost pleading quality of my own voice. I forced a smile. "I would be happy to open the dance with you, King Éomer."

As if on cue the musicians wound up the last song and began a slow, measured dance number as King Elessar led Queen Arwen out onto the dance floor. For a moment only the two of them glided almost impossibly elegantly over the smooth flagstones while we all watched, captivated. But then Éowyn and Faramir joined them, and I glanced over at my dance partner.

He nodded and took my hand, leading me out into the almost empty floor.

Éomer's hand at my waist was firm and warm. He seemed confident in the steps as he led me forward into the pattern. He was a fine partner. He pushed just when he should and pulled just when he should, and never hesitated. I hadn't expected him—the Barbarian King, as Amrothos would say—to know the Gondorian dances, much less be good at them. But we moved without emotion or embellishment. Neither of us did anything more than move our feet in the steps; neither of us enjoying ourselves.

To my surprise I found that we had moved to the other end of the courtyard at some point during the dance and now we were alone. It was an awkward moment for both of us. Having been forced into a dance neither of us had wanted, we now had to think of something to say about it. "You dance well, my lord," I said simply. "I hadn't thought that you would know Gondorian dances, I've read that the dances in Rohan are quite different."

He shrugged. "Only a few. I think Aragorn had them play that one because I know it."

"Who?"

"Oh...King Elessar. Before he was King he went by the name Aragorn."

"Did..." I began but was cut off by a woman in a rather stunning burgundy dress who floated over to us. She was fashionably short and pale, almost like a human in miniature, with soft delicate features and round, pale pink lips that were almost exactly the shape of a bow. She had large, luminescent blue eyes and a mass of straight black hair. Always one of the most beautiful women in the court, she looked exceptionally well tonight.

"Éomer King, I had not known you danced so well," she said in a voice like a soft little tinkling bell. "Lady Lothíriel, you of course danced as beautifully as you always do."

"Hello, Lady Winweld," I said with a grin. "You are as gracious as you always are."

"It is not gracious to speak the truth, Lady Lothíriel," she said piously.

"Ah well then, you are as true as you always are."

"You are too kind."

"I would have thought it wouldn't be kind to speak the truth either... if it isn't gracious, that is," I said, feigning confusion.

"I only meant..." she began.

"Don't trouble yourself...I think I've seen the beginning of it and it will give me something to think about as I drop off to sleep tonight," I said brusquely. "But I've also just seen Amrothos, and he has my glass of wine. So you'll have to excuse me for being so rude as to run away just the second I've found you. Thank you again for the dance, my lord," I said, curtseying to Éomer.

To my surprise he raised one blond eyebrow at me and he looked as if he was fighting not to smile slightly as he bowed and said, "thank you, lady."

I hadn't seen Amrothos of course but I managed to find him easily enough and reclaim my glass of wine. "You looked well, dancing with the King of Rohan," he said with a laugh. "Perhaps you'll be the lucky lady with a barbarian's foal in you this time next year."

"Perhaps," I agreed. "But what the devil are you playing at, telling him I'm a good dancer. He was practically obliged to ask me for a dance after that."

Amrothos grinned. "Oh, I'm not really sure yet what I'm playing at. I suppose I just wanted to see the look on Winweld's, and all the others', faces when you got the first dance of the night. That should give them all something to stew on while they undo their hair tonight."

I frowned. "Amrothos..." I began, "I thought we agreed we weren't going to do that kind of thing anymore. The war is over, and Denethor is dead. It's a different kind of court and you don't know what it will be like."

He shook his head. "No, you agreed with yourself not to do that kind of thing anymore. And the court will never change, Lothi. As long as people are people they're still going to drink too much, sleep with people they aren't married to and be so ashamed of it that they can be manipulated."

"Fine, you stay here and worry about the look on Lady Winweld's face without me," I said. "I'm going to go look for another dance."

But as I crossed back across the courtyard, weaving in and out through the groups of people, I passed Éomer again. He was still with Lady Winweld, to whom he had given his arm, but they had also been joined by Lady Harra.

Lady Harra was not exactly beautiful but she had a hard, lean body with a face that was difficult to look away from somehow. It was appealing in the way the edge of a tall building is appealing, and gut-wrenching terrifying. Amrothos and I were good at court intrigue but we were babes in the wood compared to Harra. When we'd first heard the Ring Bearer's tale I had whispered to Amrothos that Shelob probably looked like Lady Harra...the hideous great spider at the center of the web of gossip and power that stretched over the court. And the look on her face told me in an instant that she had just caught two juicy new flies and planned on feasting well.

For a moment I almost kept walking. I could find another glass of wine and a dance and leave Éomer and Winweld to fend for themselves. But I knew they wouldn't. Neither of them had what it took to fend for themselves, not if Harra was hunting them.

So I sighed and fixed a smile on my face and cooed. "Lady Harra! How good to see you. You look ravishing tonight as usual. Why does Lord Harra ever let you out of the house?" The last I inflected in a way that made it impossible to tell if it was a genuine compliment for her or a recommendation for her husband.

"Lady Lothíriel," she said, matching my congeniality. "That new dress does such wonders for your eyes, I'm sure all the other ladies here want to just scratch them out."

"I do hope I haven't interrupted something important," I said.

"Not at all, not at all," Harra cooed. "Lady Winweld here was just telling me all about the fascinating tour of the stables she had with King Éomer here this afternoon. Would you believe that she even got to…er…stroke his stallion?"

I bit my lips and tried not to laugh.

"And just tell Lady Lothíriel here how much you enjoyed stroking the King's stallion? Was it very smooth? Were you not at all afraid of it? Being that it is so big?" Harra continued.

"Oh no, I couldn't be afraid!" Winweld said slowly. "Not with King Éomer right there and all to protect me...and yes it was ever so smooth, being that it gets brushed everyday and all."

Winweld seemed to know that somehow the conversation had gotten away from her but she seemed perplexed as to precisely how. Éomer at least had a clear idea of the joke, but he was standing rigidly still with an angry expression on his face. He looked as if his best idea of how to handle this attack involved drawing his sword. I almost rolled my eyes at that.

"Well, I declare I almost feel offended. I went down to the stables myself this morning and not once did King Éomer invite me to stroke his stallion. Lady Harra, I think you and I should insist that the King takes us down to the stables right now and lets us take turns stroking his stallion until we are thoroughly content. After all, if there is anyone who loves to stroke stallions as much as you, I certainly don't know them." I put a little power into my voice on the last sentence so that it carried well enough to be heard by anyone passing by.

Harra grinned expansively at that. "Ah, there's the old Lothi we've all been missing," she said, almost sighing with contentment. "My dear, it has been so long since we've seen your claws I was afraid that you'd filed them off or they'd become snagged on the drapes. Such a sad thing for a little kitten like you."

"I suppose I'd miss your claws too, Harra if you ever put them away," I said evenly. "Tell me, when Lord Harra comes to your bed does he wear his armor to protect himself? I suppose it's just as well though since it would never get any use otherwise. What did he do again during the battle of Pelennor Field? I heard he was fishing at his homestead castle?"

Winweld tried to get a word in here. I think because it was the first thing we'd said in paragraphs that made any sense to her at all. "I'm sure Lord Harra would never have left if he had thought..." she began.

Harra laughed. I gave Winweld a look telling her to shut her mouth that even she couldn't misread. "Come on, Harra where's the sport in this anyway? You might as well go out and shoot arrows into a butt two feet away or joust against a toddler."

"Oh, since when has any of that been in bad taste?" she inquired. "I say as long as the arrow or the lance lands with a thunk you've done a good job."

"Well, no one would ever say you had poor taste but if I ever catch you doing this again I'm going to point out to Lord Harra that your second sonGaluion doesn't look at all like him. After I've said it, it won't matter if it's true or not, he'll always wonder."

For almost a half a second she seemed to show a flash of fear but then the same predatory, toothy smile was back. "Well, I seem to have hit a little bit of a nerve here, haven't I Lothi? Didn't realize I was trying to...what was it you said? Shoot my arrow at your butt?" She asked sweetly, glancing at Éomer.

I laughed. "More like joust with my toddler. But nice try, Harra. Now why don't you slink away and try to find someone deserving to rake those talons over."

"Shouldn't be all that hard," she said slowly, grinning at me pointedly. "Enjoy your night, Lothi."

"You too, Harra."

After she left there was a moment of deafening silence. All the time I had been fencing with Harra, Éomer had stood speechless. Whatever had this Barbarian King thought of that show of hostilities? "Anyway..." I began awkwardly, trying out a casual smile, "I was just on my way for another glass of wine. The two of you enjoy your night."

But when I left I headed in the opposite direction of the refreshments. I felt too heady and drunk and terrified by what I had just said to Harra to go back into the party. Instead, I moved out into the dark towards the edge of the courtyard where it dropped away into a thousand feet of oblivion at the edge of the white spire. Not many revelers were out this way and I wanted to be alone for a while.

It had been so stupid to snap right in Harra's face like that. I was going to suffer the consequences too. Since the war I had been careful not to stir up any trouble for myself and now I'd gone right for the queen bee when I stuck my foot into the hive. Why had I done it? Winweld meant nothing to me. I paid so little attention to her that if I'd walked by her when she'd fallen into a ditch, I probably wouldn't have noticed her cries for help. And I certainly hadn't done it to impress King Éomer. Who could be impressed by a petty tooth-and-nail squabble like that? If anything he'd probably thought less of me after it. To protect him then? But I had no reason to want to do that, particularly if I had to buy it with my own peace.

Why had I done that?

"Why did you do that?" The voice behind me echoed my thoughts so well that I almost didn't hear it at first. But when I did I recognized it immediately: a familiar low, bass voice with a hint of command even in the most casual conversation.

I turned around slowly, grinning. "Do what?" I asked with faux innocence.

He didn't bother to answer my question, just waited, staring at me with eyes so intensely blue I could see their color even by the dim light. I felt them bore into me and I found the desperate urge to shift uncomfortably under them. These were eyes that had seen their King die on the battlefield and witnessed the horror of the Black Gate. They were patient eyes, and I wasn't going to win a staring contest with them.

"Oh, that thing with Lady Harra, you mean?" I said with a little dismissive laugh. "Just a little taste of what life was like back in the days when Denethor reigned. We ladies of the court can be so nostalgic. It's a weakness really."

He came closer to me, and it took all my willpower not to take a step back. It wasn't afraid that he would hurt me, somehow I knew he never would, but that he would touch me gently. Why that thought terrified me so I had no idea. But I wouldn't have wanted to run from him any more than I did if he had been carrying a sword and coming for my head. My heart beat in my throat and I swallowed only with difficulty.

But he didn't reach for my hands, only stepped past me to the edge of the balcony and leaned on the rail next to me, facing out as I faced in. I had mistaken his intentions completely and for some reason felt a pang of regret mixed with my relief. "Tell me, Princess," he said, voice amused, "do you ever answer a question with a simple answer?"

"Not when I can help it," I admitted.

"Why is that?"

"Boredom," I said immediately. "And a lack of character."

"Some people might say it lends you a little character. It certainly makes you interesting company."

I shrugged. "People like that have just fallen for my act. I assure you that I'm quite boring once you get to know me?"

"Has anyone ever got to know you?" he asked. Leaning down to rest his hands on the low wall that kept him from tumbling down into the seemingly bottomless darkness below, he had to turn his face up to look at me.

He was quite handsome with the moonlight streaming down over his blond hair, and his smile almost took my breath away. It was wide and genuine and cheeky, in a way I never would have expected it to be. I suddenly wondered if he had always been a stern, noble king, or had once been mischievously lighthearted. I couldn't imagine anyone ever learned to smile like that without first upsetting a dozen sisters, housekeepers or nannies to the point of hysteria.

"Not if I can help it," I said as casually as I could.

He turned back so we both faced into the party. With him sitting slightly on the railing and me standing straight, arms folded carefully behind my back as a cushion for the small of my back against the cold stone, we were exactly head to head. "But you haven't answered my question," he said. "Not really anyway."

"I thought we agreed that answering questions wasn't in my nature," I reminded him.

"Ah, so we did," he said. "But giving up is not in mine, so we are at an impasse."

"How disagreeable. One of us is being dreadfully uncouth...but which one?" I said. "Perhaps the one who is insisting when a lady has already delicately evaded a personal question. Perhaps the one who is doggedly refusing to take a hint."

"Or perhaps the one who is withholding a trifling satisfaction from a visiting king to her court," he suggested.

I laughed at that. "Ah, King Éomer, why does a Lady of the court do anything? Too much wine, a desire to score points or simply a trifling flight of fancy, I suppose. I wouldn't read too much into it."

He stared at me for a long moment, peering unyieldingly into my eyes until I felt like I would rather stick my hand into a fire than hold his gaze a moment longer. Finally he nodded, looking out over the city, but he was smiling.

"Your brother was lying when he said you love to dance. You're a fine dancer but you have no real passion for it. But I don't think he was lying when he said you loved books as well..."

"I'm sure it's just a..." I began with a flippant grin.

"Don't say passing fancy," he said shortly. "Passion isn't something to be scoffed at or derided, especially if it is your own. You should be proud of it."

I swallowed. My heart had been so steady on the dance floor but now it was back up in my throat, beating as hard as it could. Why did he have to be so infuriatingly sincere? I thought desperately. I wasn't used to it. I opened my mouth to say something that I could smirk at but nothing came to mind. Instead I said, "You should go in, my lord. I'm sure Lady Winweld needs someone to partner her in the next dance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a review to let me know what you think! And big thanks to Lady Bluejay for beta reading this story for me! Definitely please check out her work too as it is excellent!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please drop me a review to let me know what you think! And thanks forever to Lady Bluejay for beta reading this!

Erchirion sought me out in the library the next day just before noon. I was making a copy of a book I had borrowed from Faramir's library on the horses of Rohan and I was more than a little distracted. "Hello, Lothíriel," he said.

"Hello, Erchirion," I answered, not looking up. "How are you this morning?"

"I am well. How does this morning find you?"

"Well," I said. "Only that this book is rather frustrating. It has quite an extensive section dedicated to the breeding of horses but it is mostly just long lists of sires and dames of various famous horses. It says almost nothing about the techniques used for selecting couplings, or what couplings were found not to work. And it was all so long ago it means nothing to anyone alive. All these horses are described in exactly the same terms: swift of foot and strong of body and so on. It says nothing about which ones were truly exceptional and which ones were simply good."

"Well...how would you like to fix that?" he asked.

"Oh, I'd very much like to fix it," I said. "I'd like to know what principles guide the Rohirrim when they set out to select couplings for..."

"No, I mean how would you really like to fix it?" he asked.

I looked up for the first time. "I just said..."

"As Éomer and I became good friends in the war, he invited me to go to Rohan last night. I'm to help distribute the grain he is buying from father, and I want to take you with me. I'm sure the Rohirrim would be delighted to talk about horses with you to your heart's content."

I laughed. "How would I get back? Father would never let me travel alone with unknown guards and he would never spare any of his knights just for a visit of a few weeks."  
"Well, I'm sure that something could be arranged if you only wanted to stay for a few weeks," Erchirion said. "But what I actually meant was why don't you come with me? For my whole trip? We would be back in time for the festival of Beltane."

I gaped at him. "What? For six months? In Rohan?"

"Why not? I don't have a wife and I'll need someone to run my house in Edoras," he said simply. "You seem to have a good head on your shoulders, Amrothos says you're an excellent bookkeeper and...and you don't really appear that happy here in Minas Tirith, Lothíriel," he added finally.

I cocked my head to the side but didn't dispute it. "You want to take me with you to Rohan? For the winter?"

To my surprise I found that I desperately wanted to go. Just to be away from the White City would be a blessed relief. I wouldn't have to deal with Lady Harra or Lady Winweld or Father or any of them. Amrothos...I thought suddenly. I could be away from Amrothos for the first time in my whole life. What would it be like not to have his voice always complaining, always critiquing, always whispering snide comments in my ear? I felt like a terrible sister for thinking it but I wanted that most of all. Just a break, I said to myself, less than a year of our lives and then I'll come back.

But what made Erchirion think that he would enjoy my company for all that time? Never mind my reputation as a gossip, a troublemaker and a villain. Never mind that I'd never run a household before, never mind that I'd made a bad impression on all the Rohirrim I'd ever met. Never mind that my father wouldn't approve even if he didn't say as much. What made Erchirion want to put up with me for six months? And what if I backslid? What if my change had been temporary and I started to return to my old habits? We would be trapped together basically alone and with no chance of leaving for months.

I couldn't impose on him like that. And I couldn't leave Amrothos behind.

"That's a very generous offer, Brother..." I began.

"It's not," he said quickly. "Rohan won't be like Minas Tirith. There will be no balls, no new dresses and none of your friends. There won't be any of the food you're used to and you'll be in charge of a house, which will be quite a bit of work given that most of your servants won't speak Westron."

"That doesn't sound like very much fun at all," I said lazily.

But then why then did it sound so appealing? I hated hard work. I hated riding, cold, strange places, people I didn't know, bad smells, and loneliness. I wouldn't have any balls to go to, any new dresses or any company but Erchirion. I would be miserable. So why did it sound so appealing? There was a sudden, sharp longing in my chest to say yes.

Erchirion shrugged. "Maybe not."

"Well, I like fun," I said. "A lot."

He nodded. "Why don't you think about it, Lothíriel? You can tell me by tomorrow. If you don't want to go I'm sure I can ask father for one of his housekeepers."

"Very well, Erchirion. I'll think about it," I agreed.

Éowyn and Faramir married that afternoon. It was a beautiful day with a clear blue, cloudless sky. The couple looked beautiful and ecstatic and completely in love. When King Elessar announced them as bride and groom the roar of approval from the crowd was overwhelming. It shook Minas Tirith like nothing had since the war, and rolled out over the planes for miles around. The shout that went up from the riders of Rohan was especially moving: a hundred warriors screaming their longing for a lasting peace.

I wore a red silk dress with gold gloves and shoes. Undoubtedly a gorgeous dress and new, but somehow I didn't feel the way I had expected. This promised to be the biggest party for months and I was in a in a foul, black humor. I had promised Erchirion to think about his offer and I certainly had, but not in the way that he had meant. I knew that my decision was already made, and I hated it. I resented Amrothos, felt crushed by Minas Tirith and most of all hated myself for being so unable to alter my decision. After all the months that I'd sworn I was changing, was going to change, I still remained the same girl. I was still chained to Minas Tirith and the court and the corpse of Denethor and all he represented. And I chose that bondage in the end because it was easier and it was all that I had ever known. Stupid,stupid,stupid, I cursed myself. But it didn't alter anything.

Amrothos, as if for contrast, was in high good humor.

As he brought us two glasses of wine he smiled at me as he handed mine over. "I heard what you said to Lady Harra. Impressive."

"Stupid you mean," I said bleakly. "She's going to roast me over a spit before Yule."

"Ah..." He waved me off. "We'll think of something."

"Don't bank on the thing about her son," I said. "I used that last night."

I expected him to be angry. It was Amrothos who had found out that Harra had been sleeping with a Haradrim lord right around the time her son was conceived, and it had been our biggest bargaining chip with her for years. But instead he just smiled. "She's no saint. She'll do something stupid soon enough and we can lever you out of the whole mess with it straight away. Don't worry."

"I don't want to find something else on her," I said sulkily.

"Oh, you don't mean that," he dismissed my protest.

"Yes, I do," I insisted, a little desperation seeping into my voice despite of myself. "I don't want to do this stuff anymore, Amrothos. It's not...fun anymore."

He sighed. "Lothíriel, if you don't want to eat that wild boar of a woman alive you shouldn't be kicking the bushes where she lives."

I took a long sip of my wine. He was right. I'd pretty much declared open war on Harra the night before and that was not something I was going to be able to take back. "You know Erchirion asked me to go to Rohan with him this morning. He says he needs someone to run his household and I could help him with the bookkeeping for the grain."

"Right."

"Don't you want to know what I said?"

"I know what you said."

"Why do you think that?"

He laughed. "Well, I think I would have noticed if you'd gone completely insane. Can you even imagine yourself?" He laughed even harder. "Do you think anyone in that country knows how to sew you a ball gown? Or make you a lemon finger cake? Or put your hair up? Or keep you entertained? You're not made for that kind of life."

"I could learn," I protested weakly.

"You're stubborn, Lothi," he said, almost kindly. "But you're not that stubborn." I was surprised to find that I was almost blinking back tears. "Come on...let's go figure out what to do about Harra."

"Very well," I agreed heavily. "But not tonight? I just want to enjoy the wedding."

"Sure, let's enjoy the wedding," Amrothos agreed. "Let's go find Lady Winweld and see if we can make her cry."

"I'm going to go and find a dance partner," I said.

As I left Amrothos' side and walked through the crowd, I wondered again why I had done what I had the night before – stupid,stupid,stupid. This wasn't going to end with Lady Harra. By the time I was done figuring out a way to get her to leave me alone I would be back to being Amrothos' partner once again. By the time I crawled out of the pit I'd dug for myself last night I would be just as dirty as I had been before.

One year for Yule Amrothos had given me a little woven tube of straw. I put both my fingers into the ends but found that I when I tried to pull them out the tube of straw contracted, closing in on my fingers so I couldn't release them. Minas Tirith was like that. I was so connected to everyone and everything that whenever I tried to pull away in one direction the other direction tightened in on me.

I danced with some of my customary partners but my usual pleasure wasn't there. I locked arms with them instinctively but had to think about the steps, instead of just floating through them. I was just about to give up and go back to Amrothos when a large hand caught mine and I was pulled around to face King Éomer. "Oh!"

He smiled, looking rather pleased at my surprise. "Good evening, Lady Lothíriel," he said.

What he had done, grabbing my hand in a crush, was absolutely against etiquette. As if to add insult to injury he raised my fingers, still clasped in his, to his lips and pressed a gallant kiss to them. I should have slapped him, but instead I curtseyed most dutifully. "Good evening, my lord," I said, letting my usual placid smile return. "Please pass my congratulations to your lady sister. I found the ceremony most moving this afternoon. I wish them both all happiness. May they have many sons."

My words were so formulaic that they were by nature insincere. I had meant them as insolence but he just grinned wider, almost as if pleased by my contrariness. "I will," he promised. "Honor me with a dance."

It rankled me slightly that he hadn't really asked, more commanded me. But I simply dropped a small curtsey. "The honor will be all mine, my lord." And I let him lead me out onto the floor.

The dance was faster than I'd expected—almost frenetic— and I found for the first time since Erchirion had offered to take me to Rohan, that I was thinking about something else. I found it impossible to sulk when he was whirling me in and around the other dancers and I almost had to run to catch up. The placid, sullen expression melted off my face and I found I was genuinely smiling by the time the final notes of the song rang through the hall.

"Thank you for the dance, my lord," I said simply when it was over. "I enjoyed it."

His hand was still twined in mine and he didn't let it go until I finally dropped his. "I enjoyed it as well."

"Thank you," I said, looking around for Amrothos. I needed some wine.

I spotted my brother and a polite excuse formed on my tongue when Éomer surprised me. "Did your brother invite you to Rohan?" he asked.

I looked back to him, my eyes questioning. "Yes...but how did you know?"

He smiled. "I suggested it to him."

"Did you?" I tried to remember the last time I had been so genuinely amazed. "Might I ask why?"

He winked. "Why does a savage king from the North do anything? Because there is nothing but straw and horsehair in our heads, or a backwards indifference to reason? I wouldn't read too much into it, my lady."

I laughed. "Yes, well, whatever your reasons, he did ask me. I said I would think about it."

"But you don't intend to come," he said with a smile.

I smiled back, finding my jaw was suddenly tight and hard to move. "I have a very comfortable life here," I said with an apologetic little shrug.

He gave me a shrewd look. "Do you?"

When I didn't reply he nodded. "I think your brother wants to speak to you, my lady," he said, pointing over my shoulder to where Amrothos approached.

Amrothos had found Lady Eithedis and Lady Giril of Rinhelm. The sisters were two of our closest friends, despite the rumor Amrothos and I had started two summers before about Giril lying with one of her stable boys. We'd reconciled the winter after, when we'd been so mean to the third daughter of some lesser lord, who had tried to marry their brother, that she'd gone back to her home castle after bursting into tears at a banquet.

"Hi, Lothi," Eithedis greeted me.

"Hi, Lothi," her sister repeated.

"Hello," I said simply. "What did you think of the ceremony?"

Eithedis laughed. "I was surprised the bride-to-be didn't show up in her mail."

"Or trousers. I've heard that the women over there ride in trousers just like they're men. And they wear their hair loose like the most common slut," her sister added.

"Well, that would explain why Faramir looked so pleased."

"What? That flat-chested little slip of a boy must be a stunning conversationalist for any man to look at her like that," Amrothos chipped in.

"Maybe that's the appeal. Faramir never did complain too much about being sent out on ranging with nothing but a few hundred score men to keep him company. Maybe if he can't marry a slip of a boy he's trying for the next closest thing with a slip of a girl from Rohan," Giril said with a smirk.

"Oh, would you three at least try for a little consistency?" I exploded suddenly.

Three stunned faces turned to me.

"Well, what is it? Is Lady Éowyn a flat-chested boy, a fierce unladylike-like warrior, a slut, or is Faramir just a pederast? Can't you just pick one theme to your insults and stick with it for two sentences?" I demanded. "I'm sick of this stupid, never-ending game."

"You know what I'm sick of, Lothi?" Amrothos said, sighing in a long-suffering way. "You! Since the war you've been such a drag I don't know what to do with you. That little exchange with Harra last night was the first interesting thing you've done in months. But if it's going to be months more of this 'don'tsaythat,Amrothos, it'snottrue' and moping around all day, talking to the servants and trying to be someone you're patently not...you're not the sister I knew before."

"Oh, since the war I've been a drag have I?" I said, suddenly angry. "How dare you! This is pathetic and petty and the worst thing is that you don't even know it. None of this matters, Amrothos! You must realize that."

"What else matters than this?" he said casually. "This is fun."

"It isn't. Not anymore. Not to me. Grow up, Amrothos! This is a game for children."

"Oh, Lothíriel. You are a child and you always will be. You think you have the mettle to do anything else? You say this is petty? You are petty. You say this is pathetic? You used to be great at this. What else are you going to do? You don't have any other skills."

"No!" I said, so loudly it was almost shouting, and the groups of people nearest to us turned to stare and then looked politely away. "You don't have any other skills, Amrothos! Or anywhere to go. But I have somewhere else to go: to Rohan with Erchirion!"

The words were out of my mouth before I'd even known I'd spoken them, and I instantly wished I could grab them and shove them back in. I felt as if I had suddenly dumped a bucket of icy water over my head and I had to stop myself from grabbing onto Amrothos' arm to keep steady as a wave of fear washed over me.

Amrothos saw my fear and smiled, cocking one eyebrow at me. "Oh?" he said simply.

"Yes," I nearly gasped. "Yes, I am."

There was no going back from it now. I'd said the words and I couldn't withdraw them. It was strange but it was the code that Amrothos and I had built for ourselves that forbade me from taking the words back. We had always prided ourselves on our indifference, and that meant that once a decision had been made we simply sat back and accepted it with as much scorn and bad humor as we could.

But he wasn't coming with me. There would be no one to complain to or to hear my witty, devastating remarks on Rohan and the Rohirrim. I suddenly felt scared and alone.

I spent a lot of time with Amrothos over the next two days as I prepared to leave Minas Tirith. I had many things to pack but I had maids to do that for me and Erchirion arranged all the other provisions, wagons and various sundries for travel. Though we would leave together Erchirion was planning to ride with Éomer and his Riders straight on for Edoras, making the journey in about a week along the Great West Road. I would follow on with the wagons and provisions and would likely take nearer three. I spent a lot of my time, as I always had reading in the library, talking with Amrothos and filling my copious free time with picnics, sewing circles and walks around the gardens and the city.

Amrothos and I didn't talk about my leaving. We talked a lot about Lady Harra. I felt guilty about going and I tried to please him, letting him talk without trying to turn the conversation away from it, as I had before. He didn't come to see me off the morning I left. We'd stayed up to share a glass of wine before I went to bed and I'd asked him if he would.

"You'll leave before dawn, right?" he said.

"Yes."

"I can't be bothered then."

I had never cried during the siege, probably too terrified, but I cried that night for the first time since I was a child: long, wracking tears that strangled in my throat and wouldn't come out as more than painful grunting howls. I don't remember falling asleep but at some point I must have exhausted myself because the next thing I knew Feleas was shaking me awake. "My lady, it is time for you to get up."

I nodded and pushed myself up in bed, feeling nothing but tired. "What? Oh, thank you, Feleas," I said groggily.

"Lord Erchirion says that you will ride until day break and then have breakfast, but I brought you some bread and honey from the kitchen if you would like to have it now. And some water to wash your face."

"Oh...thank you." I ate the bread absentmindedly while she got the riding cloak and dress she had carefully laid out the night before. Other than that, my closet and room were completely bare and eerie in the glow of the candle light. Outside my window the sun hadn't even begun to come up.

She helped me into my dress and cloak and did up my hair in a simple braid. Feleas wasn't coming with me to Rohan. One of Erchirion's kitchen girls would have to do my hair from now on and I felt a strange, bone-deep, weary sadness as I thought about that. But I was too tired to really care.

"Thank you, Feleas," I said when she was done. "For everything."

She curtseyed. "It has been a pleasure serving you, my lady...these last few months."

That cheered me up somehow as I walked down the dark halls past my sleeping family and out to the stables where Erchirion was waiting. I had always liked stinging honesty and backhanded compliments both. Together they were practically ambrosia. Feleas really was showing some character, I thought. It was a real shame she wasn't coming with me.

Erchirion smiled when he saw me. "Right on time."

I shrugged. "Thank Feleas."

My father and Elphir were there to see us off. Both embraced me rather formally and shook Erchirion's hand warmly. "Do Dol Amroth proud in Rohan, Erchirion," my father said, clasping him on the arm. He had nothing really to say to me so he simply nodded.

Erchirion and I walked our horses down through Minas Tirith in the dark. I had borrowed the horse from Elphir: a decrepit old nag called Sea Racer. When I had chosen her Elphir had cocked an eyebrow. "Her?" he'd asked, incredulously. "You are going to ride her to Rohan?"

"She doesn't look like she'll bolt," I'd said with a shrug. "It's been a while since I've been on a horse."

"She won't bolt. I doubt if she could get above a speed that I would classify as a stroll even if all the orcs in Mordor were chasing you," he'd said.

"Perfect."

"I'm surprised Amrothos didn't come to see you off." Erchirion broke into my thoughts as we passed the last gate out of Minas Tirith.

I shrugged. I had half expected him to come as well but all I said was – "He said if we wanted him to come we should leave at a civilized hour."

Outside the gate a host of Rohirrim had already gathered and were ready to ride. Éomer came out of the darkness to greet us. Like my brother he seemed unnaturally cheerful to me, given the hour. Even more so than Erchirion, he seemed positively alive with joy. It made my own black humor even darker.

He clapped Erchirion on the shoulder with a hearty slap. "Erchirion, my old friend! I am glad to be riding to Rohan with you. You said once that if there was ever peace you would come to visit me but this was more than I had hoped for! You won't regret it, friend. Rohan will take your heart if you let her!"

Erchirion smiled back. "It is good to be riding with you again, Éomer King."

To me King Éomer bowed respectfully and kissed my fingers. "My lady, you look lovely this morning."

"Thank you, my lord. You look like someone who enjoyed himself thoroughly last night."

It was the plainest rebuke I could dare. Despite his good humor the King of Rohan looked as if he'd barely slept and had quite a bit of mead. His long, blond hair certainly hadn't been washed or brushed and his eyes were bloodshot and slightly sunken.

He laughed heartily. "Mount up, my lady. We ride until full light."

By the time I had let Erchirion help me up onto Sea Racer's bent back, Éomer was mounted on his enormous warhorse and he rode twice the length of the caravan before heading to the front of the column. I had read that commanders often did that before battle, believing it was important for the men to see them, to see that their commander was with them. I wondered if he did it on every ride from force of habit. From a satchel next to his saddle he produced a simple carved horn and blew it once. The sound of it was like a large, warm finger sliding down my spine. My flesh seemed to tighten suddenly with the sensation of it and my heart beat faster. The horns of the north!

The last time I'd heard them I'd been in the Houses of Healing, and they had been blowing our salvation. I looked at Éomer, and for the first time realized that he had been the man blowing that day when I had looked up from the blood and gore and felt something that wasn't numb and cowardly. And now I was riding out into the dawn with the Riders of Rohan. The romanticism of that carried me about twenty minutes down the road. And then I truly began to hate it.

The journey took eighteen weary days, though I rode only one of them on Sea Racer. On the second day when I'd woke to find that the long ride had left me with a bruise down one side I demanded a seat in one of the wagons. Elfhelm, who had been in charge since Éomer had ridden on, didn't openly rebuke me but the look on his face told me he hadn't expected much more from me. After that I'd spent my time staring out the back of the wagon and asking myself over and over why I had agreed to come and brewing up as much hatred for Erchirion, Rohan, Éomer and Amrothos as I could.

When at last we arrived in Edoras, it was almost dark. I was dishevelled, grubby and exhausted, and just wanted to forget the terrible journey. I went straight to bed without dinner, without meeting any of my household, and without speaking more than a few words to Erchirion. It was likely he knew my mind anyway because I made no bones about glaring at him, the house and anything that dared cross my field of vision.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

I woke the next morning before dawn with someone whispering nonsense at my bedside. Raising my head off the pillow, I opened bleary eyes begrudgingly. A slender woman of perhaps twenty- five was kneeling beside me. She smiled when she saw my eyes had focused and kept up her stream of nonsense words. Rohirric, I thought as the realization of where I was crashed down on me.

I pulled the pillow over my head and rolled away from her. "Go away," I mumbled. "It's not light out yet." Gently she pulled the pillow from under me, and grumpily I sat up. "Listen, I don't know what you're saying. I don't speak Rohirric."

She nodded and said something else, pointing at a basin of water and a small covered tray sitting on a low table on the other side of the room. I shook my head. "Later," I insisted. "Come back later." I gestured to the door as if to shoo her out of it. "Come back when it's light outside."

She shook her head too, and pointed again at the basin and tray.

"Later…later…later." I repeated, pointing out the window. "When the big, bright, yellow thing in the sky is almost directly above us, I want you to come back. Until then, just let me sleep you, harpy of the north."

She shook her head and began to pull the covers down. I snatched them back and glared at her with my most withering glare. To my surprise she didn't stop. At home my maids would never presume to make me get out of bed before I wanted, much less pull away my covers like I was a petulant child. But she just laughed and shook the covers once so that a great billow of cold air went shooting down through them, and said something in Rohirric.

I glowered at her, vowing to get her put on clean-up duty in the kitchens as soon as possible and find a more subservient servant to be my maid. But for the moment there didn't seem to be anything left to do except to get out of bed, wash my face and have my breakfast.

I was pleased to find that she had heated the water for me, and when I got to it the breakfast was quite good. I ate a boiled egg with some dark, hearty bread that had a good flavor and drank a mug of warm milk. There was even a small pot of salt and some rich yellow butter. I normally had light pastry with butter and jam but as I was still tired from the journey I was glad to have something more substantial than my usual fare. I felt much more charitable toward her by the time I had finished for she didn't rush me but continued to flit about the room, opening the drapes and then looking through the – compared to my closet in Minas Tirith – meager assortment of dresses. She pulled a simple cotton dress of dark gray out of the closet and turned to me for my approval. I nodded agreement, and she began to brush out the wrinkles and air it.

Erchirion and I had taken a rather modest house in the shadow of the main hall. There was a small dining room and kitchen as well as a solar for each of us and three bedrooms. It was by no means very grand, but it was cozy and well built. He had let me take the largest bedroom and the solar that faced the light. "You'll be here more than I will after all," he'd said.

Under normal conditions it would not have been a difficult household to run. The house was small and with just the two of us there wasn't much to do. We had three servants — the young girl who had woken me, whose name turned out to be Eadgyth, a shy old woman who was our cook and a formal, taciturn young man who was our guard. The cook and the guard had the good fortune to be able to almost completely avoid me by staying at their respective posts, but Eadgyth did the shopping and she had to come to me for money. I had expected this and so the first time she came dressed to go to the market I pulled out some coins that would have been roughly appropriate for Minas Tirith and pressed them into her hand. "Don't buy any more of that awful venison we've been eating," I said, though I knew she didn't understand.

She shook her head and pressed the coins back into my hand. She pointed at me and then at the door and said something in Rohirric. Both of us had decided on a tactic of pretending that the other understood our language which sometimes infuriated me to the point that I would just leave the room while she was taking. I breathed deeply. "What do you want?" I asked, voice poisonously tight.

She went to my closet and pulled out a pair of soft, doe-skin boots and brought them over to me, placing them in front of me. "You want me to go with you?" I guessed.

She pointed at the boots and said something else.

"No," I said shaking my head.

She nodded her head – yes.

"Eadgyth," I said, very firmly, "there is absolutely no way that I am going to go strolling around this rusticated city with you buying more of that awful venison and getting stared at by your barbaric brothers and sisters."

But somehow twenty minutes later I found myself in the bright sunshine, padding after Eadgyth down to the market, feeling murderous.

As we walked through the market I began to realize that though a Gondorian lady would never accompany her servant to do the shopping it was perfectly acceptable in Rohan. Not all, but many of the girls were accompanied by their ladies, some of whom were even carrying baskets themselves. Éomer would explain to me later that Rohirrim women took pride in being directly responsible for the quality of their table. It was seen as careless not to do the shopping yourself.

After that I knew better than to resist when she came with her basket. I plodded along behind her like a dark rain-cloud, giving her as much money as she wanted and staring vacantly into the distance as she bargained. Only much later would I realize how kind she had really been to me. It would have been remarked upon had I never gone with her to the market, and not to my benefit. And during those first few weeks she'd never complained about me to anyone, though I'd given her more than enough material for it. In fact, I got the distinct impression that she made quite a few excuses for my aloof, disdainful manner.

Erchirion offered to hire more servants—some serving girls, a real handmaiden and a porter—but I refused. "Whatever for, Erchirion?" I snapped. "Who exactly do you think we will be entertaining that we will need serving girls and porters?"

And it was true, for the first week absolutely no one came to call at our house. This was of course my fault. Éomer had given a small welcome feast on our arrival to introduce us to the society in Edoras and though Erchirion had been quite charming, I had barely said a word. At the time I had thought it was a kind of disdain for the Rohirrim and their ways that kept me apart from them but later I would begin to wonder if it had been fear instead.

Our black hair and clothes set us apart distinctly from the Rohirrim and wherever we went in the Mark, Erchirion and I drew stares. Later I would learn to take it for what it was: a genuine and open curiosity. But at first being stared at had felt intolerable. I wanted to scream at them that didn't they know that they were the strange ones, the backwards ones, the barbarians. I felt out of place for the first time in my life, and I couldn't stand it.

So I stayed in our house, reading, and writing long letters to Amrothos full of complaints. But then one morning Lady Gænwyn of Underharrow came knocking.

Her first words, when I opened the door and found her on the steps, were: "Welcome you to Edoras, Lady. My name is Lady Gænwyn."

Gænwyn was easily old enough to be my mother. She was tall, and while most Rohirrim are slender, she was thick and quite stout, if not exactly fat. Her face was tanned and weather-beaten though she wore a very fine crushed velvet gown and a golden belt worked into a pattern of clasped hands that I liked very much. She had the kind of mouth that was made for laughter and a mead cup, and her bright eyes were those of a much younger girl.

Many of the nobles spoke Westron passably well, but hers was so heavily accented that I barely understood her. "Yes. Hail to you, Gænwyn and thank you for your warm welcome," I said. "Now I apologize most profoundly but I am just about to step out of the house to go..."

"Rohirrim say: Westuhál," she cut me off.

I was so taken aback that she would interrupt me that I wasn't offended at first. "What?" I said.

"When they are meeting Rohirrim, they are say ''Westuhál,'" she repeated slowly. "So when I see you I say WestuLothírielhál. Now you say."

"Fine," I said, "but really I am going to be late for..."

"Westuhál," she repeated, enunciating each syllable.

"Yes, yes, Westuhál," I repeated impatiently.

She beamed at me. "Good. Good. Now we go sit together."

"I really had planned to go..." I began, but she was already walking down the corridor.

She seemed to have been to my house before because she walked straight to the best room and settled herself on my couch. When I rang for Eadgyth and asked her to bring some tansy tea and scones Gænwyn shook her head. "Too late for that," she said. "Drink tansy, bring long night. We drink chamomile tea."

With some rapid Rohirric she countermanded my order. It irked me greatly that she would tell me what to do in my own house and I tried to tell Eadgyth to bring both but she was already gone. "I assure you that I am quite accustomed to drinking tansy at this hour." I said haughtily.

"Too late for that herb," she repeated. "Now you tell me about Minas Tirith."

By the time Gænwyn finally took her leave of me, hours later, I had decided that there wasn't a single thing that I liked about her. She was loud, rude, blunt, bossy, pushy, and she didn't know anything about anything. And worst of all she was nearly impossible to insult. My well aimed, clever and biting jabs about her lack of culture, education, sophistication, breeding and manners, slipped right through a gap in her Westron, leaving her wholly unscathed. My sour looks broke like a ship on the rocks on her doggedly cheerful manner. And whenever I tried to give up on explaining something she hadn't understood, she just wouldn't let me.

"Go back. Speak better. I will understand," she would say.

I had expected that my rudeness, and I had been quite rude, would keep her from coming back but she came at least every third day after that. Sometimes we would sit together and she would make me tell her about Gondor, about which she was quite curious. Sometimes she would tell me about the Mark in her broken Westron. This was slightly more interesting to me, though I lacked the patience to decipher her and after a while I would begin to simply let her talk, not bothering to try to understand.

Other days she made me go with her places. She walked me to the hall and took me to sit with other noble ladies. Once she even took me to her tailor and bought me a dress in the Rohirric style, though I refused to wear it. Not everyone was as immune to my sullen manner as Gænwyn and often the women would sit in almost complete silence as Gænwyn chatted on gamely in her awful Westron. Most people spoke better Westron than her but, unlike Gænwyn, let me cow them into silence.

The breaking point came after a week and a half. She came to my door particularly early and though I protested I didn't want to go, down we went to the stables where she commanded two of her horses to be saddled. When I saw that she hadn't found me a modified saddle that allowed me to ride side-saddle, I crossed my arms over my chest. "I can't ride like that," I said firmly.

"What problem?" she asked.

I pointed accusingly at the saddle. "I can't ride with that. I ride side-saddle like a lady. I can't ride like that and more than that, I won't, Gænwyn. It's not proper."

Her brow wrinkled. "What problem?" she asked. "Speak well."

By speak well she meant speak slowly and use words that she knew. Suddenly I was furious. Speaking so that she could understand me wasn't speaking well, it was speaking poorly! How could she not see that I didn't want to go riding with her? How could she not see that I didn't want to be her friend? Why was she so stupid and stubborn?

I choked down a scream of frustration. "I…cannot…ride...in… that… saddle," I said, enunciating every word. "I… ride…like…this." I mimed riding side-saddle. "Like a real lady," I added spitefully under my breath.

She shrugged. "No trouble. You learn ride like people of Mark."

"I can't!" I suddenly exploded. "Why can't you see that! I don't want to learn to ride! I don't even want to be here! I want to be home asleep! What is wrong with you? What in Valar's name is wrong with you that you can't understand that?"

For a moment she looked shocked. Perhaps she hadn't understood my words but my tone of voice was unmistakable. But then to my surprise she threw back her head and laughed heartily.

For a moment that made me even angrier and it occurred to me to strike her. But then just as suddenly as the anger had flashed up, it vanished and surprisingly I laughed too. All my rage melted suddenly and unexpectedly away like sugar dissolving into tea. When we stopped she began to unbuckle my saddle. "All right", she said. "We find you right saddle, Lothíriel."

For some reason after that I quite liked Gænwyn . The strange kind of pushy affection she lavished on me was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. I got angry with her quite a bit. But she had this way of laughing just when I was getting ready to shout at her and after that day it was somehow easy to laugh with her.

When I told her she needed to improve her Westron she shook her head. "No. You in Riddermark now. We speak like Horse-lords."

"You want me to learn Rohirric?" I asked, nonplussed.

"Why not? Black hair means good head."

I puzzled over that for a moment. "You think black-haired people are intelligent?"

She touched my locks. "This means you can read books and..." here she mimed writing, "in them too."

"Yes, I can read and write."

"Therefore speak like Riddermark people no problem," she said. "I teach."

'Therefore' was a word that I think Gænwyn felt made her seem intelligent. She used it in every sentence she could fit it in. I had gone on a walk that morning therefore I must rest that afternoon (she felt that the ladies of Gondor were roughly as physically capable as a Rohirric infant). I had worn the blue dress today thereforeI looked nice. And I found for some reason that I had adapted the habit, parroting her own awkward, bastardized Westron back to her. I was from Gondor,therefore I did not wear the clothes of the Rohirrim. I had run out of ink therefore I needed to go to the market to buy more.

But Gænwyn stuck to her promise of teaching me Rohirric, though I had never actually said I wanted to learn it, and it quickly drove a wedge into our blossoming friendship. I learned the greetings easily enough and a few simple words but past that I was useless. I didn't have any of the grammar and there was only so much I could remember. I wasn't used to being treated like a child, an idiot child at that, and began to resent it and to fight her when she tried to teach me new words. But she never let my sullenness deter her. Until I had repeated it she would just keep saying the word and pointing to something.

After two weeks, when Erchirion finally came back from his first ranging, I was so grateful to have someone to talk to I poured out the whole story at the first dinner, complaining bitterly about everything that irritated me. Most of it was about Gænwyn . But as I spoke I found that I had quite a bit of good to say about Edoras too and strangely most of that was about her.

I told him about the day she'd taken me to pick berries in the wild tangle of brush and bushes that grew along the south edge of the outer dyke. I had struggled through the thorns and thickets for three hours, filling my basket. I had torn my dress and cursed Gænwyn , Rohan and berries thoroughly in Westron. But once we had finished the ladies had stripped off their dresses and dove into the stream that fed the dyke to swim.

"Come,"Gænwyn had said, "last time to take bath here. Cold soon."

It hadn't been proper, of course. Amrothos would have said it was positively unsanitary to do it with barbarians who had Valar only knew what sort of catching illnesses. But it had felt incredibly good to soak off the sweat, juices and scratches in the late afternoon sun.

I also told him about making candles with Eadgyth and the cook (whose name was too difficult to pronounce). It was something I had never done but I had brought some rose oil with me from Gondor and after three afternoons in a row when Gænwyn hadn't called I had decided to try. It had been quite a struggle to explain to Eadgyth what I wanted and it was backbreaking work that took all day. By the afternoon I had been almost ready to forget the project and leave Eadgyth and the cook to finish but somehow I couldn't. Amrothos would have laughed at me. Servants after all were there to serve. If I wanted rose-scented candles it was their job to make them for me. We had finished well past dark and ate a simple meal of bread and butter in the kitchen. Eadgyth and the cook had looked almost as tired as I did but had gamely started to put on hot water for me to bathe but I had waved them off and gone to bed still sweaty and with wax in my hair. I had rarely slept better.

"Still, I will be raving mad in a week if Gænwyn doesn't stop trying to teach me Rohirric," I said at the end of my rambling. "I can remember the words she teaches me just fine but that doesn't help me put together sentences. I know the words for fish and meat and pumpkin spice soup, but I can't ask for it to be served for dinner. I know how to greet, but I don't know what any of it means."

"I suppose I could talk to Éomer or Elfhelm and have them explain to Gænwyn that you don't want to learn Rohirric," he said.

"If only that would stop her!" I sighed. "No, what I was really hoping for was that you could maybe see if there was a book of basic grammar and words for Rohirric I could find somewhere. I think if I could study some basics on my own maybe I would get a little farther when Gænwyn tries to teach me," I explained.

He nodded, a strange little smile on his lips. "Well yes...if you think that would work."

I was writing a letter to Amrothos in my bedroom, sprawled over the bed carelessly, when Eadgyth, came in. Normally she scowled when she caught me writing in bed because I had a tendency to spill ink on my sheets but today she looked too flustered to care. She beckoned me to come into the front room.

"What is it?" I asked lazily, though I knew she would only beckon me again.

I had expected Gænwyn, but to my surprise Éomer was waiting for me. I knew he had gone on a visit to the Westmark, and thought him still there. He was leaning over my writing desk looking at a map I had been copying from the book on Rohan I had brought with me. I dropped into a deep curtsey. "Good day, my lord," I said. "What a pleasant surprise. I didn't know that you were back in Edoras."

He smiled and kissed my hand. "I returned last night. Your brother told me that you were looking for a book on Rohirric." He held out a small book bound in handsome red leather. "We have few books written in our language, but my grandfather commissioned this to help my grandmother when she had to come to live in Edoras.' He paused, frowning slightly. "Although I am told she took little interest. I'm pleased that you're intent on learning our language. You do us honor."

That surprised me more than I would have thought.

"Mostly I'm concerned with figuring out how to get my handmaiden to stop waking me up before dawn," I said. "But sure...also other things too, I suppose. Your songs are quite good I hear."

He smiled. "We are early risers in the Mark."

"Why do you call it the Mark?" I asked. "And not Rohan, I mean."

"Riddermark is the name we give these lands. Rohan is the Gondorian word," he explained.

"Oh?" I said. "That's very interesting."

"That map is very good," he said, pointing back to my writing desk.

"Oh, is it? I have been wondering about that part of the Mark. We rode through the Eastfold on our way up, but I haven't seen the Westmark at all," I said.

"Oh...no I meant that your copy is quite good. The map itself is quite bad."

I was surprised. "What? Why do you say that?"

He smoothed it out and showed me two villages. "These are both equal distances from Edoras. But on the map one is almost twice as far away. This lake isn't anywhere near where it really is and the river runs through these two valleys, not these two."

"How frustrating," I said nonplussed. "Have you got a better map I could perhaps copy then? I would be very careful and promise to return it immediately if you need it for anything."  
He shrugged. "I have perhaps one or two that are a little better but no one has ever really mapped the Mark seriously. Some Gondorian scholars have come to do it before but none of the Rohirrim have ever taken an interest in it. Are you interested in maps?"

"It's a hobby," I admitted. "I've even made a few myself. But I have no formal experience. No one really thinks to hire the Princess of Dol Amroth to survey their lands."

He laughed. "I would imagine you would have better things to do."

"You would imagine," I said with a sigh.

"Come, take a walk with me through Edoras," he said suddenly. "Your handmaiden tells me you only leave the house when someone comes to fetch you away."

Despite the slightly mocking form, I was surprised at the offer, which was generous. "Do you have the time, my lord?" I asked.

He offered me his arm as a response.

I was surprised at how grateful I was to be out of the house as we walked through the town. We drew a lot of stares and attention as we walked. Both because of my black hair and because I walked on their King's arm, I imagine. But I was surprised at how little the daily life of the Rohirrim was disturbed by our passing. They dropped bows and curtseys perfunctorily but only the smallest children were stunned into silence. I had the impression that Éomer walked often through the city.

Conversation flowed easily between us as we walked. It had been almost a month since I had spoken with anyone who was fluent in Westron, except Erchirion, of course, and it was like a sip of cold wine after a long walk. I perhaps shouldn't have wasted the King's time with questions that I could have asked any citizen but he seemed pleased enough to answer them for me. At first I tried to limit my questions but when I found that he was quite knowledgeable about almost every aspect of the life in Edoras my questions came almost faster than he could answer them. He laughed as he tried to keep pace with my curiosity.

Perhaps naturally for him, halfway down the hill our path turned towards the stables. He didn't even seem to notice that I had never expressed interest in seeing them. Perhaps his feet went there of their own accord, as water flows down hill.

The grooms seemed even less perturbed by their king than the other citizens of Edoras. A few called out a few words to him in Rohirric and he answered in the same language. He led me to a particular stall where I recognized his horse: an enormous gray charger. The horse snorted once and walked to the stall door, sticking his great head out to gum Éomer's shirt, looking for treats. The King laughed and stroked his head, mumbling a few words in Rohirric, but finally he found an apple in his cloak and a knife in his boot.

I almost laughed at that. What king walked around his own capital city with a knife in his boot like a common foot soldier? But then again he hadn't always been a king. He had been in the war and at the court of Rohan when Grima Wormtongue had held the mind of King Théoden. Suddenly the knife reminded me of the part of my own mind that was always ready with an insult or a retort. Neither of us ever let our guard down, I realized, though that meant different things to us. I felt an unexpected pang of empathy for Éomer. The insane urge to take the knife from his fingers and bring them to my lips came over me. The man who stood before me was such a strong, fierce warrior and king but only because he had been made into one. No one had ever protected him, so he had learned to protect himself. That made me, quite unexpectedly want to offer him shelter in that age-old womanly way: by taking him into my bed and letting him sleep there soundly. I almost laughed at that too. What silly, strange creatures we both were.

He cut the apple in half and gave a piece to the horse.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" I asked.

He laughed. "Ah yes, where are my manners? This is Firefoot. Firefoot this is Lady Lothíriel."

"Oh, so he speaks Westron?"

"As well as you speak Rohirric, I'd wager."

I grinned. "Lady Gænwyn says that 'black hair means good head'" I tried my best to impersonate Gænwyn 's accent as I spoke her words. "So give me a few weeks with this book and I'm sure I'll be speaking like a native."

He laughed. "Gondorians do have a reputation for being intelligent Very few of my people can read and write. They used to think that you were magicians because you were able to communicate without speaking. You're lucky. A few generations ago we might have drowned or burned you for fear that you would put a spell on us."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Again he laughed. "I would never let anything happen to you."

How very like Éomer to presume so much with a remark like that. I felt heat flush my face and quickly changed the subject. "Gænwyn also says that the Gondorian mares have many teeth but I have no idea what she means by that. When I ask she just points to her own teeth and says, 'many, many, many, lady."

That brought a loud shout of laughter which he quickly stifled.

"What?" I demanded. "What is she saying?"

He shook his head. "It's a superstition here. It comes from the breeding of horses...but it's not quite suitable for me to explain it to you."

I glared at him. "That is unfair."

Instead of answering, he held out the other half of the apple. "You can feed it to him if you want."

I took the apple and held it out, keeping my palm very flat so Firefoot wouldn't take a finger with it. After that the horse allowed me to stroke his neck a few times and I thought back to that night when Lady Harra had made so many jokes about stroking King Éomer's stallion. Was he thinking about that as well? I tried my best not to blush.

"He's very pretty." I said.

Éomer laughed at that, hard. "You don't know very much about men do you?"

I looked up at him sharply. That sort of comment could mean a great deal or very little and could merit almost any reaction from a slap to a mad dash for safety. But he simply looked amused. "When a man takes you to see his war horse he isn't hoping to hear how pretty it is."

"What adjectives were you hoping for?" I asked. "Strident? Overwhelming? Magnificent? You're just as puerile as Lady Harra."

I admired the horse for a little while longer and then Éomer offered to show me the rest of the stables. All the horses in the royal stables were magnificent. There were docile mares, almost wild stallions, elegant geldings and even a few beautiful little yearlings. "Do you think I could learn to ride?" I asked as we walked back up to the keep.

"I was under the impression that you did ride," he said. "Given that you rode here."

I had spent most of the trip in the back of a wagon but I didn't choose to correct him. "No, I mean do you think I could learn to ride like your sister? Not side-saddle...astride?"

"Is that something that you would be interested in?"

I shrugged. "Gænwyn has made it clear that I look absolutely ridiculous when I ride side-saddle."

He laughed. "I admit I was surprised when Erchirion told me you'd made friends with Lady Gænwyn."

I shook my head. "I wouldn't go so far as to say we are friends, though I can't seem to convince her of that," I protested quickly. "She's quite vulgar, I think, though I can't be sure given how little we understand each other. Besides that she's bossy, rude, pushy and devious."

"I've heard all that said about someone I happen to think very highly of."

Washetalkingaboutme? I wondered. I gave him a quick look but his face was completely unreadable. That was one of the surprising things about Éomer: I was usually very good at reading people but I found that his face was somehow difficult. At first I had thought it was the difference in our culture but I found the other Rohirrim easy compared to him. Even when he laughed there was something in his eyes that I didn't quite understand.

"Well, anyway, it's a silly idea," I said with a sigh.

"Why do you say that?"

I shrugged. "It's just not me, I suppose. I'm not the kind of girl who rides astride." The unexpected bitterness in my voice surprised even me.

He considered me for a long second. "I like that you keep pace with me when we walk," he said finally. "Most women can't or won't for some reason and I've noticed that it's not your natural stride. I'm sorry to cause you problems but it is refreshing not to have to slow down for you. And it makes me think that maybe you're the kind of girl who could learn to do just about anything she put her mind to."

It was a strange compliment. Still, I blushed, feeling strangely proud.

When we reached my doorstep he bowed and kissed my hand, taking his leave. "For as long as I can remember Lady Gænwyn has been the matriarch of the Edoras court. Her husband died when she was a young woman and her two sons were both killed in one of Saruman's raids. After that she turned all of her considerable intelligence and force of will to the society in Meduseld. If she wants to be your ally, it would be... a tactical mistake to refuse her."

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading and to Lady Bluejay for editing this work for me! She is my muse and you can be too if you write a review to tell me what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

Gænwyn took to teaching me how to ride with the same bossy, formidable good humor with which she addressed every other task. She loaned me a large gelding called Wind Chaser. He was gentle, but three hands larger than any other horse I'd ever ridden: not a suitable mount for a lady by Gondorian standards. I quickly grew to love him though, despite the fact that his back was a precariously high perch and the first time I had swung onto it I had clutched his mane in terror. In sharp contrast to Gænwyn, Wind Chaser had almost limitless patience with my riding faults. He never threw me when I failed to keep my heels down. He never galloped when I accidentally kicked his flanks. And probably because I brought an apple, or brushed him for a little while when I first arrived, he always seemed happy to see me.

Riding was difficult. I had very little natural talent for it and none of the required muscles. I always came back in a foul temper, sore and in need of a bath. Still, Gænwyn rode every day in the morning with some ladies from the court and I took to joining them, though it gave me little pleasure. As the weakest rider in the group I was always tired and sore by the time the others were getting warmed up. I had to grit my teeth and force myself to go. I wasn't sure when or why it had become so important to me to learn to ride. And I couldn't remember ever before forcing myself to do something I didn't enjoy.

Perhaps I was simply struggling to fill my days. Without Amrothos or the court of Minas Tirith to keep me busy I had very little hobbies or responsibilities. When Erchirion was gone my duties as lady of the house were so light that they barely took up any time at all. So I spent many hours studying the book that Éomer had given me and practicing my Rohirric with Eadgyth and the other members of my staff. What Amrothos would have said if he could have seen me sitting on a low stool in the kitchen, asking the cook about her family and incessantly looking up words in the dictionary, I didn't care to know. I found Rohirric an easy language to learn. It was similar to Westron and I had always had a knack for languages. Reading took up a good deal of my day, as it always had, but I found that I enjoyed having a routine. Riding gave me a reason to get out bed, even if I did dread it.

Sometimes Éomer joined us on those morning rides and to my surprise he was more patient with me than the ladies of the court were. When I was tired he always offered to ride more slowly with me while the others went on ahead. I thought it was because, as someone who only occasionally joined us, he wasn't tired of my constant stopping, but Gænwyn had a different idea.

"You should marry a Rohirrim," she said one day as we brushed down our horses after a ride.

"Oh?" I asked, amused. "Why is that?"

"Different stock is good for foals," she said. "You are different from us so you'll bear a good strong son."

Since I had started learning Rohirric I had been surprised to find how eloquent and interesting Gænwyn could be in her own language. She had a sort of dark humor that was dry and witty without a hint of cruelness or bitterness in it. The dogged cheerfulness that I had dismissed as idiocy seemed, as I got to know her better, more like the bravest and stiffest defense she could offer against a morose nature that could kill her. Having for years chosen to deal with my own darker nature by raining terror and shame down on anyone who would let me, I had to admire that.

What had been less of a surprise was how much of her conversation had to do with horses.

I laughed. "Sure. That's logical. Why don't you start looking for a husband for me today, Gænwyn?"

"No need. You should marry Éomer King," she added.

My head jerked up like she'd hit me with a riding crop (which she had actually done one morning when I had forgotten to keep my heels down after being reminded five times in a row). "Why would you say that?" I demanded, a little more quickly than I had intended.

She grinned at that. "You're of the same station, both young and fit, it would be good politics. He likes pretty, intelligent women. Besides...you like him."

"What makes you think that?" I asked warily.

She shrugged. "You do not invite the company of others but you invite his."

"How do I?" I demanded, indignant.

She laughed at my expression of haughty anger and said something too quickly for me to understand. More slowly, she added, "It is not a bad thing to want something, Lothíriel. It's not even so bad to show it."

I turned back to brushing my horse. What an idiot Gænwyn can be, I thought. I might have been horrified, but I was sure that my behavior had shown no such 'wanting.' It might have occurred to me that perhaps Gænwyn had meant to tell me something about the way Éomer invited my company and not the other way round. But in the months that followed, though I thought periodically about that conversation it was almost exclusively when I was feeling particularly uncharitable towards Gænwyn or the Mark.

"As if I could ever live here permanently," I remember mumbling through gritted teeth on a particularly long morning ride.

After I had been practicing my riding for a few weeks I took it into my head that I would like to see the Stair of the Hold and the Púkel-men. I had never thought to pass so close to either and it seemed a shame to waste such an opportunity.

When I asked her Gænwyn was enthusiastic. "I should very much like to show you Underharrow in any case. We could stay the night at my house and then set out in the morning. The Stair is lovely at dawn and we can make it if we leave early."

It wasn't difficult to find an escort. Éomer was working hard to make the Dimholt a trade route between Gondor and Rohan and had established a permanent camp on the Firienfeld, where he and Théoden had camped before the start of their journey to the Pelennor Fields. The men who worked clearing out the path were forever receiving shipments of supplies to sustain them. We simply begged leave to travel with the next departing group, which was easily granted. Éomer even agreed to travel with us himself, as he journeyed there periodically to check on the progress of the work.

It was slow going from Edoras to Underharrow. I could tell moving at the pace of the wagons grated on Éomer's nerves but there was no question of letting the heir-less king ride out into the wilderness on his own. After riding in an éored for years and enjoying the complete freedom of a man with enough power but not too much responsibility, Éomer had never fully adjusted to the chains that bound him to his crown. Gænwyn and I, however, thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

As we rode Gænwyn recited some very beautiful Rohirric poetry that I ruined by breaking in every fourth line to have Éomer translate one word or another for me. In turn I told her roughly translated versions of Gondorian fables (the Emperor and the Parrot, the Pirate and Five Maidens, the Horse and the Hare and so on), which she ruined by disagreeing with, and endlessly debating, some of the more fantastic aspects of many of them ('where would a hare get a hat anyway?' she had wanted to know). But since we'd filled our wine skins with quite a good vintage we were both too cheerful to annoy each other.

We arrived in good time at Underharrow and had a good dinner of rabbit and fish and blackberry cordial. It was nothing grand, but at least it was a change from the eternal venison we had been eating in Edoras. And the company was quite good. Éomer and some of the men had gone for a quick ride before dinner, scrambling along a twisting little path up the side of the mountain that backed Underharrow, one I would have feared to tread on foot, much less on horseback. The exercise, or perhaps the danger, seemed to have done him some good for he was a much more talkative companion at dinner. He was so charming and solicitous to Gænwyn that she finally laughed and called him something that I didn't understand that made both of them roar with laughter, and Éomer blush very slightly.

The next morning Éomer and I woke early and, taking two guards with us, rode out before dawn to see the Stair at sunrise. Gænwyn stayed behind in Underharrow to fulfill some of her duties, having already seen the Stair perhaps a hundred times. We took our breakfast with us and arrived before the camp had woken fully. We sat on a flat rock that jutted out over the valley below and ate nut-scones (still slightly warm as they had been baked that morning) as the sun rose pink and magnificent. Never having feared heights, I sat with my legs dangling over the side with free strands from my braid whipping around my face. It was cold and the wind was quite strong but I took off my cloak, wanting to feel the wind fully. Éomer sat next to me with the handkerchief of scones between us. We were silent at first, awed by the beauty of the valley before us or perhaps just sleepy from the early start. There was no sound except the wind gusting across the rock. The silence was like a spell and we spoke only in hushed tones, for fear of breaking it.

"I had no idea Rohan would be this beautiful," I whispered to Éomer.

His answering smile was more radiant than the sunrise.

Gradually though, as the misty night burned off, the camp began to wake and the birds started singing, so we became more animated too. Éomer went to greet the master of the camp and the works while I played at throwing dirt clods off the cliff and the guards watched our horses.

After a while he came back and told me that I could have a tour of the camp before I returned to Underharrow. I was mighty curious about the excavation of the Dimholt. I'd read several accounts of its construction and descriptions of it before the dead had claimed it as their own. I wanted to know what it had become. Even more interesting than that turned out to be Éomer's vision for what it would be. With the Oath of Eorl renewed both Gondor and Rohan were eager to recommence serious trade. Opening the Dimholt would allow luxury goods (spices, sugar, lace, silk, coffee, dried fish and pearls) to pass into Rohan more easily along with the plainer staples of Gondorian trade. It would also allow the Rohirrim to sell their own goods in Gondorian markets. I had noticed that wool for example was much cheaper in Rohan than in Gondor (the mountainous, colder climate had bred a variety of sheep that were much more generous with their wool than their southern cousins). Éomer informed me that by next winter he hoped to be able to trade some of the heartier grains that were unknown in the southern climates as well as animal furs which were more easily obtained and of higher quality in the Mark.

To this end the main path, through which King Elessar had ridden on his way to the battle of the Pelennor, was being restored and even widened in some places. King Elessar had sent some Gondorian architects and stone-smiths to help with the project and I questioned them almost endlessly about their work. They were craftsmen and therefore somewhat below my station but I was ecstatic to see them and surprised myself (and them) with how familiar I was. It was good not to have the only speck of black hair in a straw sea for a change and it was wonderful to hear Westron spoken in what I considered the correct accent again. But even more than that I was strangely proud of them. I was glad that my country was helping in the project and not just leaving Rohan to shoulder the burden themselves.

I passed the morning so happily occupied that I was surprised when the men at work stopped for the afternoon meal. I hadn't noticed how high the sun had risen. Éomer and I took our meal of rough, dark bread with a slice of hard cheese and nigh unchewable dried meat out to the same rock where we had taken our breakfast. "I apologize for the food. If I expected you to stay for a meal I would have brought something more suitable from Underharrow," Éomer said as he watched me try, unsuccessfully, to masticate a piece of meat into submission.

I swallowed the piece with an audible gulp. "Am I keeping you from your work?" I asked, suddenly worried. "I didn't mean to cause a problem... it's all so interesting that I'm afraid I lost track of time."

"There is nothing pressing for me to do and I am very happy to show you as much of the Dimholt as you would like to see. I only wish the meal was fit for a princess and not this poor stuff."

I laughed. "And yet you eat it without complaint, Éomer King. Surely if a king can eat it, a princess will manage somehow."

He chuckled too. "Only a northern king remember. And before I came into that title I was only a humble rider."

By the small twist at the corner of his mouth, I could tell he was making fun of me. As I very well knew, before he had been king, Éomer had been the Third Marshal and Lord of Aldburg. Perhaps he had endured hardship, but he'd been anything but a common rider. Harra wouldn't have made the distinction though. To her he would still likely fall into the category of common. And perhaps even half a year ago the same could have been said of me.

I blushed but turned my head away from him so he wouldn't see. I tore off another piece of bread but didn't put it into my mouth, still not quite meeting his eyes but grinning. "I doubt very much that you were ever humble, my lord."

He roared with laughter at that. "True enough. But I did eat what my men ate when I was a rider and I hope never to become so pompous that I am above bread and cheese."

I grinned openly. In my world the nobles of the court aspired not only to be pompous, but to be more pompous than anyone else. As far as I knew what it meant to be noble was have to nice things like fancy clothes, exotic food, expensive furniture and lots of servants—and never to eat a plain meal. But what I had said about him never having been humble was true. Had Éomer been born the eighth son of a peasant farmer in the savage southlands, I felt sure he would still have been one of the proudest men I had never met. And suddenly I found myself unexpectedly jealous of him, wishing my own distinction didn't have so much to do with the quality of cloth I could buy.

"Still," he continued, "it's no food fit for guests."

I shrugged. "I once dined with a Haradrim Prince and was made to eat boiled snake. I assure you a little dried meat would have been a welcome second course."

He winced. "That sounds...exotic."

"It wasn't as bad as I would have expected, the glaze it was served in was quite well spiced, but I couldn't forget what it was no matter how hard I tried."

"You should have slipped it under the table to one of the dogs. Though I suppose you are too gently reared for that."

"In theory I am, though I am not at all above it in practice. If I ever served someone something they didn't wish to eat I would hate to think that they felt compelled to eat it anyway. Any generous host would feel the same and a host who wishes to make their guests uncomfortable deserves the insult. However the Haradrim hate dogs and there were none in his house."

"How unfortunate," he said with a barely concealed smile. "Be assured in this case however I will turn a blind eye to any of your meal that goes over the edge of the rock."

"Don't be ridiculous. I imagine meat is rather rare at the top of the stair. I am sure any of the camp dogs would be happy to have such a prize."

"How thoughtful of you."

I stayed most of the afternoon as well, saddling my horse only when Éomer insisted that I wouldn't make it back to Underharrow before dark if I didn't depart. "I am sure your brother would be scandalized enough that I let you eat dried meat and bread for lunch and then made you scramble around in the Dimholt all day. Letting you sleep the night in a camp of men unchaperoned is out of the question."

I had almost forgotten that Éomer knew the customs of Gondor and thus that I was breaking them. In Gondor it would indeed have been scandalous for me to leave before dawn with only three men to ride with me. The Rohirrim maidens however were less restricted. Amrothos had once remarked that this was probably because they were freer with their virtue. But if I had two daughters, one free and one virtuous, it wouldn't be the saintly one who I was always watching. I couldn't help but wonder if it was really the ladies of Gondor who were more generous with their favors.

Still, I was a Gondorian maiden. When Gænwyn had announced she would be staying the day at Underharrow I had almost insisted that she come. Only the amount of effort I knew it would take to explain to her why exactly I was making such a big deal out of something she considered frivolous deterred me. Besides, I trusted Éomer and who would tell my brother, my father, or Lady Harra what I had done anyway?

I swung onto my horse and had just reached out my hand for Éomer to kiss when there was an unexpected shout from the mouth of the tunnel – like the mountain itself was shouting in a man's voice – and a figure came bursting forth. He was covered in a light white dust and he looked scared. He was shouting in Rohirric too quickly for me to understand. I am ashamed to say that my first thought was that the dead had returned. I clenched my knees in a way that might have caused a more temperamental horse to rear, but Wind Chaser only took three small steps to the side.

Éomer was one of the first to reach the man's side, clutching his upper arm to keep him upright. He listened for a few moments and then returned to me. The two guards, apparently having overheard the conversation I hadn't understood, slid off their horses to let two riders up. Éomer came to me though. "What is it?" I asked.

"Cave-in in a side tunnel. Someone is trapped under the rubble," he said. "We are taking the horses in to get to him quickly." I nodded and began to slide down off Wind Chaser but he stayed me with a hand on my wrist. "You were in Minas Tirith during Pelennor. Did you work in the Houses of Healing?"

My brow wrinkled. "Yes but..."

"You are coming with us then. We could use a healer."  
"I'm not..."

"If you worked in the Houses during the battles you have more experience than anyone here."

I opened my mouth to protest. I was a lady of the court, the Princess of Dol Amroth. He couldn't order me around like a wench in a tavern. But he took me by the waist and lifted me out of the saddle and settled me just behind it, where children and the infirm rode, before swinging himself up.

I flushed with anger. "My lord I am truly not qualified to act as healer. I must insist that I remain here," I began, going to no pains to hide my indignation or my true reason for resisting.

"You'll do fine." His voice let me know that short of sliding off the horse and bodily refusing to be moved into the caves, there was little I could do to get out of this.

The horse hesitated too when we reached the mouth of the tunnel but Éomer overrode him with even less effort than he'd used on me. We rode in silence at a brisk walk. The torches the riders held cast only a dim red glow ahead of us and anything faster would have been dangerous. Éomer had told me that there were deep caverns and cliffs whose bottoms had never been plumbed in the deeper parts of the Dimholt.

After about twenty minutes of riding we turned off the main path down into a dank little crevice of a path that sloped downward so steeply that I had to put a hand on Éomer's back to steady myself, which had the odd effect of making my heart beat a little higher in my chest. From fear, I told myself firmly, not from the smell of him or how broad his back is or how I can feel it rise and fall as he breathes.

We found the cave-in at the bottom of the scramble down the embankment. They had been trying to open the mouth of a little underground stream a little wider (perhaps so that horses could be watered on the journey through). There was a small dark pool of water that fed through and then disappeared into another chasm in the rocks on the other side of the small cavern. Beside it there was the slide of rock that had trapped one of the workers beneath it.

A stone the size of a large chest lay directly on his left leg.

When he saw the lights of our torches he struggled to sit up. Éomer let the reins go and was at the man's side almost instantly. "Éomer King..." the man breathed.

"Save your strength."

The other two men joined him and they began to talk about the situation. I hung back by the horses, not wanting to get too close. The smell of blood filled my nostrils and there was a strange, weird buzz like the hum of a cloud of locusts in my ears. I had forgotten how little I liked tending to the wounded.

I wasn't following all the Rohirric but from the gestures I could tell they were deciding how to move the rock off the man's leg. They reached some sort of decision fairly quickly and one of the men went to unsaddle his horse.

Éomer came to talk to me. "When we lift the stone the pressure will come off the wound and he will start bleeding again..."

"I know."

He continued as if I hadn't interrupted. "We don't have any bandages so we are going to use a saddle blanket. I want you to press the cloth down on the wound and keep it there firmly to staunch the flow."

"The saddle blanket is filthy. He'll catch a fever," I said contrarily.

"What do you suggest then?" Now there was a touch of irritation in his voice but he kept it well restrained.

I bit my lip. I knew exactly where the most abundant source of clean linen was: in my ridiculous Gondorian riding skirt (complete with leggings and fully three generous layers to give it some fullness when I walked and to make sure it spread prettily when I rode sidesaddle). I temporized for only a second. "Give me your knife," I finally snapped, my panic spilling naturally over into anger.

"My knife?" His brows drew together.

"Valar! It's my skirt, Éomer!" I nearly shouted. "Now if you don't mind picking up the pace!"

"Your skirt?"

"And you are usually so articulate. Yes, my skirt. Now give me your knife and turn around! And tell your men to turn around too."

In the weird orange glow I hiked up my skirts and cut the middle one out. It was sure to be the cleanest and besides without it the outfit was still completely modest (if perhaps a little less stylish). It was not at all modest of course to be cutting up my garments in the hearing and knowledge (if not the sight) of the King of Rohan and his riders. How did you come to this, Lothíriel? I asked myself as I began cutting it into strips. Even my internal voice seemed to quaver slightly, I noticed with disgust.

I laid the cloth out over a stone and went to the stream to wash the dirt out of my hands. When I was sure they were free of any dust that could get into the wound I said, "Lift the stone."

The second the stone came off I knew the man's leg was broken. There was a weird lump like a backwards knee in the middle of his shin that was visible even through the mass of blood and flesh. Fresh blood spurted forth and I hurried to press the cloth down onto it. "Hold him down!" Éomer commanded as the man screamed and tried to struggle away from the pressure I was putting on his wound.

After a few nauseating minutes the blood came only sluggishly. I sat back on my heels. "There."

I was glad indeed to be able to turn my eyes away from the pulpy mess of a wound that had once been a leg. I had just decided not to look at it again and turned my head away, only to find Éomer crouched beside me. He pulled me to my feet and back towards the horses. Though the light was dim I could see his mouth had thinned to a hard line.

"The broken leg needs to be set here," Éomer said quietly. "Before we move him, or it will make it worse. One piece of the bone has slipped past the other. I can pull the leg to set it right but it's better if there is someone to guide the two pieces together. Can you do that?"

I shook my head. "No. I only worked at the Houses for a few days and all I did was simple bandages and help carry the wounded in. I've only ever seen it done perhaps twice. He needs a real healer."

"It will be hours before we can get a healer to the camp and that's more than long enough for a wound like this to turn. I've seen it happen."

I brushed hair out of my face with the back of my hands. My palms and fingers were covered with blood. The low buzz filling my ears had grown irritatingly loud. I brushed my hair back again a little more forcefully.

I couldn't meet his eyes. To admit that I was paralyzed with fear to a man who had survived the three major battles of the Ring War, whose sister had fought the Witch King and who was fighting every day to put his broken country back together, was an intolerable humiliation. To admit that I was unwilling or incapable of helping his countryman, after all he had done to protect his people and mine, made me sick with self-hatred.

But anger has always been an easier emotion than shame to express.

"I said I can't!" I finally snapped. "Are you listening to me or not?" I couldn't meet his eyes.

To my surprise he didn't snap back. He cupped my chin with one hand and raised my face up to his. He considered me for a long moment. Finally he said almost tenderly, "If you refuse I can do it myself but it will raise his chances of getting an infection or it healing badly. I ask you to consider doing this."

I looked at the man lying ashen on the floor and the two Rohirrim who stood over him, watching Éomer and I argue. I looked down at my skirt, deflated and pitiful, and the blood on my hands. Lothi you silly little girl you are only going to make a mess of things, the little Amrothos-like voice in my head chided. And then I finally looked up into those unexpectedly kind, warm blue eyes. I let out a noise that was the midpoint between a scream of frustration and a groan. "I said I didn't want to come into this dank, musty cave in the first place!"

Knowing me as he did, he seemed only to hear my consent.

Once the leg was set in the proper position it needed to be splinted between two stiff boards or any chance movement could re-break it. Two of the rough wooden planks they had intended to shore up the widened channel for the water once it was opened, worked perfectly. While Éomer explained what we were going to do in Rohirric, I found some twine in my saddlebags and tried to prepare myself mentally. Come on, I reminded myself firmly, it's not like you haven't hurt anyone before. I am sure some of the ladies of court would have been delighted to suffer a little broken leg over what you did to them.

But the taboo against hurting another human being physically is much more deeply rooted than the one against hurting them emotionally. The suspense was torturous as Éomer placed the man's leg between the two boards and passed the twine around it. I seemed to take hours to set up. But finally Éomer nodded to the other two men and to me.

They took a firm grip on the man's shoulders and I came to kneel near the break I had finished and washed my mouth out with a little water, Éomer came over and squatted next.

"Don't hesitate," Éomer said to me. "It will go bad if you don't go quickly."

"I know," I ground out, but the anger in my voice was thin and quavering. "Just do it now."

He nodded and with a sickening noise pulled the man's leg with a single firm movement. The man's body jerked stiff as a board and his mouth opened in a silent scream of pain. But I didn't hesitate. I reached one hand under his calf, found the edge of the bones and guided them together with my hand. Then I quickly pulled the boards flat and bound them up.

When I was finished I stumbled to the stream and wretched into it. The stale bread and cheese came up with difficulty but eventually I emptied my stomach completely. Minutes later Éomer came over to where I had slumped to my knees on the cold stone. "I am riding out to get a stretcher. You should come. Your work here is done."

I nodded mutely.

The afternoon sunlight appeared strange somehow when we came out after what had seemed like hours in the dark. I slid down and let Éomer do all of the talking. I leaned up against Wind Chaser and breathed his comforting horse smell. I don't remember hearing any of the conversation – the noise of the world faint and distant.

At some point Éomer rode back into the tunnel with some more men and a stretcher. But one of the Gondorian architects came over and showed me into a tent. Though it was only mid-afternoon I went right to the cot and when I woke up night had passed and it was late morning. So much for the impropriety of staying in the camp unchaperoned!

But I felt infinitely better after so much sleep. The broken leg and the weird dark of the Paths of the Dead felt like a dream. I stretched in the cot and then got up. As I put them back on I didn't bother wondering who had taken off my shoes the night before and found me a blanket. In the whole country of Rohan there were three people I felt would have the audacity to take off my shoes while I slept. One of them was on a rangeing near Helm's Deep and the other was at Underharrow, which only left the one in the camp.

I slipped out of the tent and walked towards the main fire pit. It was strange but I could pick him out of a sea of blond hair now, even with his back turned. As I approached he turned and the smile he gave me made my heart beat uncomfortably fast. "Good morning," he said, kissing my fingers. "I trust you slept well." Under his gaze I felt suddenly self-conscious. I must have looked an absolute mess. My dress had been cut to bits, I hadn't bathed in a day and my braid had been slept in. He surely saw something of my thoughts because he added, "You look radiant this morning, Princess."

That he had seen my doubt raised my ire. "You look like you slept outside," I said icily.

He smiled. "I did. There was a very proper young lady sleeping in my tent and I didn't want to cause a scandal for her."

I knew better than to let him make me feel guilty. Or at least better than to let it show. "How thoughtful," I said dismissively. "Is there anything for breakfast?"

To my fury he saw straight through the show I was putting on and smiled indulgently. "I am sure something can be found for the hero of the camp."

I sniffed derisively. "You are their King. Surely you don't have to pull men out of the rubble of a cave-in to earn your breakfast."

He chuckled. "I was talking about you. You're quite the talk of the camp this morning. They say you have the gift of Elven healing."

I thought about the sickening crunch the bone had made when it met itself and how I had nearly fainted. Somehow I didn't think so. "Let them think what they wish as long as I get something decent for breakfast."

I had assumed Éomer had been joking about me being a camp hero but breakfast was much better than I had expected: fresh baked bread with even a little pat of butter and soft cheese with piping hot tea. And the rider who brought it to me smiled quite broadly at me. "Welcome to your breakfast, lady," he said in heavily accent Westron.

"Thank you," I replied.

For a moment Éomer watched me eat without comment. Finally he said quietly, "I am sorry, my lady. It would not have been my first choice to force you to experience that. If it hadn't been a matter of life or death I never would have insisted. I apologize profoundly for any... inconvenience."

I glared at him. I had been enjoying my petulance and it was largely predicated on feeling put upon and unappreciated. Having him apologize ruined that. I sighed and pushed some hair out of my face. "Anyone with half a sense of honor would have volunteered," I said quietly with a little more self-deprecation than I had intended. "I was the only person available with any experience."

I looked away, embarrassed by my own sincerity.

"I won't forget what you did for one of my men."

We were quiet through breakfast after that. Finally a man approached and conversed with Éomer for a few minutes. When he left, Éomer turned to me and explained, "Wind Chaser is being saddled. You ride out in a few minutes with my apologies for detaining you so long. I am sure the guards will explain to Lady Gænwyn that it was an emergency."

I frowned. "I want to see the rider first."

He didn't need to ask what rider I meant. "That can be arranged. I imagine he will want to thank you."

"I had rather thought to apologize to him. I did cause him quite a bit of pain yesterday."

When I was shown into the tent where the rider was, I was pleased to see that his face held quite a bit of color. He had been given some milk of the poppy for the pain and his face was quite different than I remembered: no longer a mask of pain in the flickering orange light. "Hail," I said.

"Hail, lady," he said, making a short, half-bow from the bed. "Well met indeed."

I bit my lip. It had somehow seemed important to see him but now that I was actually in front of him, I found myself unexpectedly shy. I felt foolish for having insisted on coming.

"Lady Lothíriel wished to come to see how you were progressing, Hereward," Éomer said in very slow Rohirric to be sure I followed it. "She was concerned that she hurt you yesterday." I had meant that as sarcasm and he well knew it, but I let it stand.

"You do me great honor, lady," Hereward said. "But I assure you I am most grateful for your assistance."

I curtseyed. "I am pleased that you are glad."

I left quickly after that, feeling uncomfortable with the unfamiliar look of gratitude the man was giving me. We walked back to where Wind Chaser was waiting for me. I swung into the saddle but Éomer staid me from leaving by taking my reins in his hand. "If left untreated a bad break like that would have meant he would never ride again. And a man who cannot ride in the Mark is no man at all."

"I am glad," I said stiffly.

"You helped save his livelihood. Maybe his life."

"I only did what you told me to do," I snapped, feeling cornered and irritated.

He laughed. "I am not sure how, but you manage to be so very pretty when you try to pick a fight, Princess." I opened my mouth to snap back with the viscous retort that he merited but he slapped Wind Chaser lightly on the flank and the horse began to move forward. "Tell Gænwyn the truth or I will!" he called after me.

"You look like you've been in a fight!" Gænwyn exclaimed when I arrived at Underharrow.

I tossed my hair defiantly as I slid down. "Not yet," I said in my most devil-may-care voice, "but the day is still young." She laughed so long and hard at that I scowled.

But she took my arm affectionately when she was finally able to manage words unbroken with peals of laughter. "Yes, yes, come in and get cleaned up my little brawler before the servants start to wonder what sort of friends I am making in the big city."

One morning, some few weeks after the day in the Paths of the Dead, Gænwyn and I were coming home from our morning ride when she put a strange new thought into my head. After we had put up our horses we usually parted ways, but that day, perhaps because we hadn't fought once on the ride or perhaps because I was simply feeling particularly lonely, I invited Gænwyn to come back to take tea with me. The night before I had been up late working on copying a map of Rohan and it was still spread over the dining table as we passed it to go into the solar. Gænwyn, ever one to poke her nose where it absolutely wasn't welcome, darted over and started looking at the parchments.

"What are these?"

I shrugged and tried to take them back, suddenly ashamed of them for no particular reason. "Nothing," I answered in the same language. "Just something I copied out of a book. It's not very good."

"Why not?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. No one has ever bothered to make a better one."

She put the map back on the table. "You should make a better one."

Once when I was a girl I got a splinter in my foot. I don't even remember where I got it, as I was so small. But after a week or two I had a fever and angry purple tongues of poisonous blood licked up my legs and it had taken weeks to recover. That was how the idea of the map was. We had gone to tea without either of us saying anything about it. But the next day when I picked up the maps I found that there was a little pulsing thought in the back of my head. I should make a better one. And a few weeks later it had grown into an impossible-to-ignore infection that consumed my mind, barely letting me think of anything else. I should make a better one.

Almost another month passed before Erchirion next returned to Edoras and it flew by before I even noticed it. I had riding lessons every morning and then the afternoons I spent working on my Rohirric or copying maps from Éomer's library. I found that I had a renewed interest in my riding and it improved much more quickly now that I had a goal in mind.

He arrived back in an afternoon of sweltering heat. Gænwyn had told me that the last days of summer in the Mark were always the hottest and soon it would begin to become cool. In anticipation I had hung up all my winter dresses and cloaks in my closet. One of Erchirion's outriders had informed me that he would be returning so I had taken extra care with the midday meal and delayed it for him.

"Your brother will be very proud of you, my lady when he sees how busy you have been here." She'd said the night before. "Your Rohirric is getting better and you are trying so very hard to learn to ride."

Would he be proud? I wondered. Or would he think I was being silly? I hadn't told anyone that I wanted to map the grain distribution in Rohan. It was such a ridiculous thing to even think: the Princess of Dol Amrothos riding out for days at time to do the job some craftsman or merchant should be doing. What Lady Harra or Amrothos would say if they knew about it I didn't dare think. But we weren't in Minas Tirith anymore. If the Eorlingas let their women slay Witch Kings of Angmar surely they couldn't protest at me riding around and drawing some maps.

But it wasn't my usual habit to raise expectations for myself. The way I saw it, there were thousands of reasons to want to be underestimated and none to want to be overestimated. People who asked to be trusted, to help, were people I usually tried to drive away from myself or destroy before they could full set up their trap. If I had been Erchirion I would have laughed at my suggestion at the best and been suspicious of my motives at the worst.

The morning of his return I had Eadgyth draw a bath early and then brush my hair until it absolutely shone, before twisting it up into an elegant and simple bun. Then I donned one of my favorite dresses—a light orange silk, cut simply—and waited impatiently for him. When I heard him come in I went to stand behind his chair.

"Lothíriel?" he called as the door swung shut behind him.

"In here, Erchirion," I called back.

He grinned slightly at the overwrought drama of the tableau I made with all the best silver laid out on the table. "Oh, hello!" he said.

He was dusty from the road and un-shaven. He looked lean and hungry and happy but very confused as to why I was greeting him so formally. "Welcome back to your home, my lord."

He looked at the food and my dress and rubbed his stubble. "Oh, I'm not in any state to dine with you dressed like this. Let me wash and change first. And get rid of this beard."

"The beard suits you. And you must be hungry. Come, sit. The lady of the house commands you."

He came to pull out my chair and we both settled down. "This looks lovely."

It was the very best I could come up with. There was a cold soup dish, some very well cooked venison and bread, as well as some of our best wine and for desert there would be lemon cakes. The lemon cakes had taken several days of me going to the kitchen with Gænwyn, my book of Rohirric words and a lot of inventive hand gestures to get right. By the time the cook had learned how to cook them properly, the lemons I had brought with me from the south were gone.

"How was your ranging?" I asked, drinking my soup in my most lady-like fashion.

He sighed. "It was...informative."

"Oh?"

He nodded. "It's just...well I don't think I realized how badly Rohan suffered during the war. Éomer is very proud and it is difficult for him to ask for help, even when he really needs it. Most of the fields I saw were completely raised and the scorched earth will need to be tilled well before it can be planted. That will be a lot of work and there aren't that many strong backs available. In some of the villages we rode through there were very few men who weren't above sixty or below sixteen."

"Well then I guess it's a good thing that you're here."

He nodded. "We'll figure something out. I'm sure Éomer understands better than anyone how bad it is out there, even if he can't bring to say that to King Elessar. I just need to have a frank discussion with him. He has to see that he needs to request more grain and other food from Gondor, and maybe even some men to distribute it. He has agreed to spare some of his riders to help me take the grain out but he needs the riders he has left to protect the West Fold. The wild men suffered also in the war and they've been raiding settlements there."

I nodded. If anyone can handle a frank discussion it's Éomer, I thought. But all I said was, "I'm sorry to hear that you are disheartened."

Again he seemed a little surprised by my formality. One eyebrow twitched slightly and he smiled a little nervously. "Yes..." he said slowly. "Tell me, Lothíriel, what have you been up to here during my absence?"

I smiled. "Almost nothing of interest. When you invited me to manage your household I had expected that there would be some sort of work to do. But I find that you could have done very well without me. Eadgyth takes care of almost everything for me, given that she speaks Rohirric and I do not."

"I see," he said, looking troubled.

I hadn't meant to come to my point so soon but I wasn't about to let an opportunity like this slide by.

"Given that, I have a request to make."

He sighed. "Of course, Lothíriel."

I bit my lip and took a deep breath. There were going to be several steps to this. "Something I have been doing with my time is taking riding lessons."

"Have you?" He sounded surprised now.

"Yes...and not sidesaddle," I said, watching for his reaction. "Are you very angry with me? I mean I know it isn't quite proper but we're so far from Gondor and it isn't frowned upon here. I really haven't been making a spectacle of myself, I swear."

The first day I had donned the riding skirt and mounted astride I had been stared at quite a bit. But when I had complained to Gænwyn that she had lied to me when she'd said it was seemly for a woman to walk around in what were essentially trousers, she had laughed. "They aren't staring at you because of the pants, my lady. They are staring at you because they've never seen a Gondorian Lady ride astride."

I had glowed with a strange and unexpected pride, feeling very brave and daring. But she had quickly spoiled it by adding, "Also because you ride so poorly. They've never seen someone your age who cannot sit a horse."

"Well I didn't expect the Rohirrim to teach you to ride sidesaddle," he said with a laugh. "Éomer tells me that they think of it as one of the stranger Gondorian affectations, even more so than the women refusing to wear their hair loose."

I touched my own bun. Eadgyth had suggested that I wear it loose more than once. "It is so lovely, my lady," she'd said. "It is such a shame that I'm the only one who gets to see it down." But I had flatly refused. There were some things I could comprise—wearing riding skirts, sitting astride a horse, talking with my servants like equals—but the taboo against letting my hair down still burned deeply. With my hair down I felt naked, vulnerable.

"You won't tell...father?" I asked, though it was Amrothos I was worried about and we both knew it.

He shrugged. "Not if you don't want me to. But I don't think it's anything you should be really ashamed of. Things are changing, even in Gondor. I would bet your daughters ride astride like the Rohirrim. It's a much more comfortable way."  
For some reason when he said it I had a perfect image of helping a blond little girl onto her first pony and sliding one of her round chubby legs over to the other side. I felt a strange pang of longing –bittersweet like nostalgia but for something that hadn't happened yet – in my stomach. Blond? Where had that come from? I shook my head to clear the image. "Well anyway, I think I could sit a horse for several days now. Not perhaps well but well enough that I wouldn't slow up a group of better riders and well I was wondering if...if perhaps...if maybe..."

But I trailed off because Erchirion had such a strange look on his face. It wasn't forbidding or angry so much as it was just bone-weary and disappointed. I folded my hands in my lap delicately and looked at them hard, saying nothing.

Erchirion sighed. "I think I know what you're going to ask."

My head shot up. "You do?" How could he? I hadn't even told Gænwyn what I wanted to ask him. Had Éomer guessed? I had been going to Meduseld every day to look at his maps and books.

"Of course I can't really say no if it's really what you want," he said. "But will you please give it another month? I mean I know it's lonely here and I'm sure you miss Minas Tirith and Amrothos and all your friends. But can't you see what good it's doing you? I mean..."

"You think I want to go back to Minas Tirith?" I interrupted.

"Yes...that is what you're asking for, isn't it?"

I hadn't thought about returning to Minas Tirith for months. I opened my mouth to explain why I didn't want to go back and found I couldn't.

"I've been looking for months in Éomer's library and there are absolutely no good maps of the Mark," I tried to explain. "The few that do exist don't agree and they only cover less than a quarter of the lands. Besides they are all the parts closest to Gondor. There isn't a single detailed map of the area where you're riding and I was thinking that...I was thinking that maybe it would be helpful for you to have a good map of the area you covered."

"That's certainly true," he said slowly. "But I fail to see how..."

"I mean if you knew where everything was going that would probably make it easier to make sure that everyone got just enough and not more than they needed right? And besides I bet you are writing down all sorts of interesting notes about the population and conditions you're riding through. If you could compile that in some way it would be an invaluable tool for making decisions, wouldn't it?"

"Yes... but I still don't..."

I had delayed long enough, I told myself but for some reason the words stuck in my mouth. I was almost never at a loss for words but I couldn't quite figure how to phrase what I had to say next. "I happen to have some experience making maps," I said. "Just as a hobby, but it would be better than nothing. But if I could come with you on the rangings maybe I could do something. The maps of Rohan that exist..."

"You want to ride out with us ranging?" he asked, incredulously.

I shrugged awkwardly. "Only if you agreed of course…I mean it was just a thought. I suppose if you wanted you could ask for someone from Gondor to come up but that would take a while and it's not like I have an overwhelming amount of things to do here."

I managed to keep my voice casual but I had to shove my hands under the table so he wouldn't see that they were shaking. I wasn't used to asking for things I wasn't sure I could get. I wasn't used to asking for things like this either. I felt vulnerable for the first time in almost longer than I could remember.

"You understand that on the ranging the conditions would be even rougher than they were on the caravan that brought you here. There would be no great tents or cots. We would be sleeping under tarps on bedrolls and hunting for all our food between villages. There could also be some danger from the wild men," he said slowly.

This was the heart of the matter really. My idea was a good one and it made sense that I had suggested it. But it made no sense that I had volunteered to do the work myself, even really to me. Of course I knew everything that Erchirion had said was true and he hadn't even touched on what I thought was going to bother me most: days between baths, no one to do my hair and wearing the same dirty clothes over and over. But I also knew somehow that this was something that I had to do. If I could do this and without complaining I would know that I really had changed. I wasn't sure that I was ready for this test but the opportunity might not come again. For the first time I wanted to test my mettle, to see if I really was made of lace and perfume like everyone thought, or if something a little sterner lurked beneath. Even I wasn't sure that there was. I would have put the odds as equal with a coin toss, but since coming to Rohan it somehow felt even more important to find out for sure.

But I had known all that for days although I hadn't been sure that the conversation would eventually reach this point. Even so, I had my answer ready. I laughed and said as casually as I could, "Well then, you aren't allowed to tell anyone I know that I did it without complaining."

He considered me for a long moment. Then he said, "I'll ask King Éomer."

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think! XO Spake


	6. Chapter 6

Dear Amrothos,

I have nothing much of interest to say but neither do I have anything interesting to do. So I write. My days here are hugely void of activity. There are no scandals or any interesting goings on in the court, as far as I know. Perhaps if I spoke the language better I would have something more to tell you. But do barbarians even have intrigues? A question I haven't the inclination to answer.

A few nights ago King Éomer threw something of a gathering for his nobles. It could not in any way be compared to the balls of Minas Tirith and I am hesitant as to what I could really call it. You would have laughed at how rustic it was. Shall I describe the menu for you? It was meat and meat, with some sweet buns afterward. And as for what the nobles were wearing – almost uniformly home-spun cotton dresses died blue or green for women, and simple leggings and tunics for the men with their house emblems embroidered on them. I felt quite the outsider in my own dress (that emerald gown I wore for the Yule feast last year) I must describe the sparkling conversation? It was almost exclusively about the distribution of grain and whether the coming winter would be harsh or not. It was even more boring than the usual platitudes exchanged about the harvest and the weather. Why – because these people actually seem to care.

As for King Éomer himself, well let us just say that in his native lands the man seems somehow explained. We live near to the Great Hall and I see him often. Never once have I seen him wear anything more elaborate than a tunic with some gold embroidery and he seems to think that a crown would ruin his rugged countenance. And he often walks about the city as if he were nothing more than a simple rider in one of his éoreds. It is no wonder he and King Elessar get along.

As for his habits, they do not improve with time. He has an absolutely infuriating disregard for propriety and he seems to think that after knowing you for a few months he has some right to your thoughts. Can you even imagine it? I find it even more irksome because he obviously expects that after sharing a few meals with someone they owe him some sort of honesty and trust but all the while he just becomes less and less formal! So the normal trick of keeping morons like this at bay with curt formality is almost useless against him!

And there is no subtlety to him. I find he is rather lucky to have made it out of Minas Tirith and back to this barbaric place where everyone is just as candid and idiotic as he is. What he thinks, he cannot help himself from saying and worse still, he expects you to do the same. As if everyone was just as unashamed and dimwitted as him!

But enough about my life here. You must, simply must, write to me about what is happening in Gondor or I will go out of my mind with boredom. Is Winweld still hoping Our Lord Barbarian will return and marry her? Has Lady Harra been making trouble for you?

Lothi

I lay on my bed and read over my letter with satisfaction, scratching out barbaric in the second last paragraph and writing savage over it small script. I hesitated for a second longer. Amrothos hadn't written a single word about Lady Harra (though he was a good correspondent and wrote to me almost weekly). My main purpose in writing the letter had been to inquire about her but I found I lacked the courage. I wanted to remind him to be particularly careful with her. But anything I wrote to that effect would only infuriate him and make him reckless.

Contrary to what I had written, I had come back from my first ranging with Erchirion a few days before and I was looking forward to almost a week back in Edoras. It was strange how the comforts of the city, which had seemed inadequate when I'd first arrived, felt positively luxurious after a ranging. Being woken at dawn was nothing if all I was expected to do was wash my face and put on a clean dress and not swing up into the saddle for a full day's ride. And the food, which had seemed simple, now seemed rich and incredibly varied. I had gone back to compliment the cook on the evening meal twice the night before, and it had only been a simple venison stew.

I found it strange as well how much I missed Gænwyn. I had grown used to her constant companionship on the ranging but on our return she had gone back to her homestead for a few days, to prepare for the winter and I felt the loss more sharply than I would have easily believed, or ever admitted. I had never expected her to accompany me but when she had heard that I was looking for a female companion for the rangeing she had been angry with me for not coming to her first. When I had tried to explain that I had felt, as the Lady of a large area of land, the job was slightly beneath her, she had scolded me. "We are together, Lothíriel. And you know how much I like riding. You should have come to me first!"

I hadn't known what to say. I knew it wasn't true that Gænwyn wanted to go riding off into the wilderness for a few weeks with nothing but a bunch of riders and me for company. It was a favor so big and so generously given that it made me feel dizzy.

Of course she had laughed at my riding skirts, the small bottle of perfume I'd brought with me and the hair ribbons. But she'd also seen the way I could barely walk at night, so stiff from riding for the first week, and taught me how to stretch out the knots in my muscles. She'd lent me a set of riding britches when I finally relented and accepted that my Gondorian skirts weren't practical and she'd teased my out of my various foul moods.

But even with all Gænwyn's help, the ranging had been hard and I was glad to be home. When had I started to think of Edoras as home, I wondered as I stretched and wandered over to wash my face in the basin. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse the emerald gown that I had written to Amrothos about and I thought back to the night of the feast...

The great hall of Meduseld looked like an enormous tavern once the casks of mead had been rolled into place. The tall wooden ceilings weren't visible even though the hall was a riot of warm orange light from the many braziers, torches and candles scattered everywhere. At the high table Éomer sat, wearing no crown, but looking every inch the king. The back of his high chair was carved to mimic two rearing horses with their hooves meeting just behind his head.

Erchirion and I arrived late because I had spent half an hour trying to explain a quite complex hair style to Eadgyth only to give up and settle for a simple braid. Normally it would have made me furious to have to adopt a hairstyle that I felt didn't entirely suit my dress but I was in a good mood as we walked through the chilly night air towards Meduseld.

Though the air outside held a taste of the coming winter the hall was warm from the many fires and bodies. I took off my light silver cloak and handed it to Erchirion and we walked up the center isle to the high table where we had two seats of honor just to the left of the King. As we walked I thought that it was just as well that I hadn't bothered with my hair. I was attracting quite a few stares based on my dress alone, which was easily the finest in the hall. Unexpectedly, I felt slightly ashamed of myself.

Images of the devastation I had seen on the ranging had been popping into my head at odd moments. I had seen old women hand tilling their fields because there were simply no men or horses to be had to do the work. Children, who to my eyes looked barely old enough to be away from their mothers, gathered firewood or fetched water and men old enough to be grandfathers, carried swords and patrolled the villages. The scant men of fighting age who were left had all looked twisted somehow by a fear and frustration. I'd seen that same fury in Éomer's face from time to time when he spoke of the effects of the war. For a man who is accustomed to being capable of anything, helplessness is a black rage of confusion.

"My sister and I apologize for our tardiness, Éomer King," Erchirion said when we reached the table and Éomer honored us by standing to greet us.

I did not apologize but swept my most elegant curtsey, aware that many eyes were still on me, and Erchirion bowed. Éomer nodded. "Lord Erchirion and Lady Lothíriel, you are both most welcome in my hall."

We took our seats, Erchirion sitting on Éomer's left and me sitting to his left. Éomer gestured for us to be served and servants brought us two steaming bowls of almost exactly the same venison stew we had been eating for days now along with the brown bread. Somehow I had expected the dinner to be traditional Gondorian fare—gelled eels, roasted chickens with a cherry and walnut glaze, steamed new potatoes braised in beef broth, asparagus in a cream sauce or a thousand other things that a Gondorian Lord might have found fit for his table—though I knew as well as anyone that we had been eating the venison stew for days because there was simply nothing else to be had in Edoras.

For a moment I experienced a strange anxiety as the stew was placed in front of us. I was bracing for Amrothos to make a backhanded comment to the King about the fineness of his table and how delicious the stew was. But Amrothos was back in Minas Tirith and I was looking forward to the music and dancing too much to care about a little thing like the meal.

Erchirion and Éomer made conversation through dinner about the usual thing: grain. But I had thought enough about that in the last few days and I let my eyes wander over the hall and the men and women seated at the long benches. The Rohirrim were a very handsome people, I found myself thinking. The blond-haired and broad men somehow seemed more pleasing to me than the dark, small, fashionable Gondorian lords. And the women – strong, proud and tall – more admirable to me than the demure, elegant ladies of Minas Tirith.

It occurred to me that if I were a man, I shouldn't really want a wife with an elegant smile on her lips but poison on her tongue. I would rather have a woman who might shout at me in public but would never whisper behind my back. The thought came in a flash and I found it strangely unsettling.

Deep in my thoughts, I suddenly realized that both Éomer and Erchirion were looking at me expectantly. "Hmmm?" I said, jerking my attention back to them. "I apologize...I'm afraid I was taking in the sights."

Éomer smiled. "Your brother was just telling me how well you did on your first ranging, Princess. He says you bore up remarkably well under the conditions."

"Your men made it easy. They are very generous."

It was true as well. I had been inevitably given the softest patch of grass for my bedroll, the best cut of meat, and the best room in the inn (on the rare occasion when there was an inn to be had). When we'd found a beehive I had been given so much more than my fair share with my bread that night that it had been almost chokingly sweet, though I had thanked them for it at the time and pretended to enjoy the offering.

"Oh, I am sure they were quite generous with you, Princess," he said with a barely stiffed laugh.

Confused for a moment, I hesitated. "Well, they were at least not rude enough to make private jokes at the dinner table," I said finally when he didn't explain himself. I had never liked being made fun of, as is true of most bullies.

He just laughed harder at that. "Excuse my manners," he said when he recovered. "It's just I can't help but imagine that they quite fell all over each other to do anything they could to help a woman as beautiful as you."

My back stiffened. I had never liked it when men said things like that to me. It made me feel uncomfortable because I never knew what to say, and I wasn't used to that. So why then did I feel sudden warmth in my stomach and a blush that wasn't entirely unpleasant spreading to the roots of my hair? "I would quite say that," I said carefully. "They were courteous but that's certainly..."

Erchirion laughed almost louder than Éomer had at that. "You should have seen the looks of disappointment when she finally learned to get onto and un-tack her horse without assistance!" Irritatingly he couldn't stop chortling. "And I've never seen such a clean rider! They carried enough water for her to have a full bath and wash her hair every single day of the ranging." I hoped he wouldn't mention that they also heated it for me – but of course he just had to. "And not cold water either! Nothing but piping hot for our little princess..."

My blush deepened to what I'm sure must be a perfect crimson. "They brought it for Gænwyn as well. And it seemed rude to refuse..." I said with all the haughtiness I could manage with both of them positively roaring with laughter.

I took another sip of wine and decided not to mention that at the time it hadn't occurred to me that they were really even doing me a favor. After the water had appeared the first afternoon I had simply accepted it as a normal part of the ranging experience and come to expect it. I supposed I would have to be more grateful in the future but if the two of them thought I was going to turn the water down from now one, they had another thing coming.

When the two of them had settled down, Éomer, seeing my look of indignation, said, "No offense meant of course, Princess. I am simply glad to hear that my men were so... gallant... to... you... on... your... ranging." At gallant he broke into peals of laughter again and had to struggle to get his words out.

"Yes, quite gallant," I agreed acidly. "I wonder wherever they learn it."

But my rebuke only made them laugh harder.

"And handsome." The jibe had been aimed at Erchirion but to my surprise it was Éomer who was brought up by it, while Erchirion just kept laughing. Well, six of one or a half dozen of the other didn't matter to me. "Yes, quite handsome. A lady could get used to having a whole posse of men to tote her water and help her horse over obstacles and not laughing at her..."

"Oh? Is that what pleases a Gondorian Lady?" Éomer asked. "A half dozen men doing her bidding?" He had meant his tone to seem light, jesting, but he wasn't practiced at deception and I knew what steel in a voice sounded like, particularly when it was concealed.

I smiled. "Of course. I should imagine that is what pleases all women, my lord."

"Not a caring and faithful husband?" he prompted. This time his voice was a fake jest but it covered something that wasn't sharp at all but rather soft and warm and that made me infinitely more uncomfortable than the steel had.

"Perhaps if no posse can be found," I said finally.

We talked of other things after that, for which I was immensely grateful. I told Éomer about the measurements I had been making as we rode, and the system of notes that I had set up to allow us to standardize our impressions of each village. I explained that it took too long to make the map whilst we travelled so I had simply taken measurements and written them down. I would remain in Edoras for the next ranging to make the beginning of my map and to copy down all the notes that had been made. I said that it was my plan to go on every other ranging if I could manage it and spend the rest of my time in Edoras drawing and figuring out some system to represent the needs of each group of villages.

"You think that you can really do this?" Éomer asked when I finished explaining.

I shrugged. "It isn't so difficult once you know how."

Erchirion grinned. "My sister is being modest. She was always the most scholarly of our family by far. Why when she was a kid in Dol Amroth she used to bring books to the dinner table until our father forbade her and her nursemaid finally had to take all the candles with her when she put Lothi to bed or she would just read late into the night. Even in Minas Tirith the best place to find her was always the library."

I blushed. That wasn't exactly a point of pride. Amrothos and the rest of the ladies of the court had always laughed at me about that. They had called me Lothíriel of the Library for a few years in Minas Tirith until Amrothos and I had been taught to play the games of the court and knew how to make them stop.

I tried to signal Erchirion to shut up but he didn't seem to notice. "She speaks Westron, two forms of Elvish and even a little Haradrim and she..."

"I can read Haradrim," I broke in. "I wouldn't say I speak it. And, as I have already explained, the library happens to be one of the only places in Minas Tirith where hardly any people ever go. As a misanthrope I am naturally attracted to it. As for the mapping it's nothing more than a little trick of..."

To my surprise Éomer cut me off. "You shouldn't downplay your intelligence," he said sharply, sounding suddenly (and I felt somewhat inappropriately) stern. He too seemed to realize how he had spoken. His face softened a little bit and he added, "It's one of the reasons my riders are so eager to fetch you water. Men here want beautiful wives but even more than that they want intelligent wives."

I felt that that was patently a lie. All the men I knew, except perhaps Faramir and my brothers, wanted wives who were well-bred, beautiful, quiet and had good birthing hips. There were of course forms of intelligence that were desirable: being good at a musical instrument or being able to run a good household, which they might look for. But map drawing and the ability to translate Haradrim poetry (which was often as not absolutely unsuitable for polite company) were practically useless talents for a wife.

"Of course... if a half dozen maidens to carry them water can't be found."

His brows drew together and he opened his mouth. But whatever he had to say was cut off by a sudden fanfare of trumpets that announced that the musicians were ready to play. He tore his attention from me and stood. "Eorlingas," he announced in a proud and clear voice. "Thank you for coming to share this meal with me. Winter is coming. The cold is coming, but my hearth will always be warm and you will always be welcome here. We survived the Ring War. We will survive this." He raised his glass and said something that I didn't understand but that the crowd repeated and drank to. Erchirion and I scrambled for our own glasses and repeated it clumsily. Éomer drank deeply and then slammed his cup down. "Now let us find a little more warmth in the arms of these lovely maidens!"

That was met with a roar of such approval I had to grin despite myself.

The benches and tables were quickly cleared and the musicians struck up a lively tune that was wholly unfamiliar to me. But it was met with a roar of approval and a flurry of movement. The Rohirric dances were almost nothing like the Gondorian dances I noted with surprise. I had expected that they would be similar, with different steps perhaps but generally similar. But Gondorian dances were subdued, elegant affairs where often no more than the tips of partner's fingers touched. In this dance the ladies of Rohan were being swung by their waists and whirled around, then let down to clasp hands and be passed lord to lord in a riotous skipping motion.

"Quite different from Minas Tirith, isn't it?" Éomer said with a grin when he noticed how I was staring at the dancing.

"Quite," I agreed.

"It's easy enough to learn."

"Is that an offer?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

He held out a hand.

"Well I can hardly refuse dancing lessons from the King of Rohan." He laughed at that as he took my hand and began to lead me out onto the floor. "Wait..don't I get my lesson first?" I asked.

But he clasped my hand tighter and pulled me forward. "Here's your lesson: hold onto me and do what the other maidens do when I let you go," he said with that broad, mischievous grin I had seen once before in Minas Tirith.

"Thanks," I said dryly as we lined up with the other couples.

But it turned out that I hadn't even needed half of that lesson: when Éomer took me by the waist I needn't have bothered holding on. By the second pass, when Éomer again seized me by the waist and lifted me almost terrifyingly high, I had burst out laughing at the sheer joy of it.

When the dance drew to a close he didn't loosen his grip on my waist right away and I found I couldn't pull away. His hand easily spanned more than half my waist and I could feel the heat radiating from it through the thin, fine material of my dress. And the way that he was looking at me... with eyes that were suddenly a lot bluer than I remembered and an expression that was intense and hungry and not gentle in the least. For an insane moment I imagined that those strong fingers on my back were about to contract and pull me against him. I imagined his lips on mine and found that the thought froze me with a shiver like ice coursing in my veins and melting into a warm pool. I stared at him, unable to look away for what felt like an eternity.

But finally he released my waist and stepped away. "I am pleased you like our dances." His tone was almost casual but there was a roughness and a lowness in his voice that hadn't been there before.

"They're lovely, my lord." I said, surprising myself with how meek my voice sounded.

"I wanted..." he began to say but was interrupted by the music starting up again. One of the riders that had gone on the ranging with me, appeared from the throng and held out a hand.

I glanced at Éomer and for the first time I'd ever seen, I thought that perhaps he wanted to remind someone that he was the King of Rohan and not simply just another rider anymore. But he said nothing. "I would love to!" I exclaimed, moving away form him.

I danced with several of the riders after that but I turned the fifth down, pleading fatigue. I had been lucky that Eadgyth hadn't been able to fix a more elaborate hairstyle. My simple braid was a mess from all the movement and my dress was slightly damp with sweat and rumpled in what I was sure was an unseemly way from being picked up by the waist so much. I would have liked some mead or water but that was being served on the other side of the hall and it would take me minutes to cross through the crush of people. Another kind of relief was much closer.

I pushed open the great doors and slipped out into the chilly evening. I stood on the steps, smoothing my skirts and enjoying the cool air washing over my skin immensely. Fingering my braid, I wished there were somewhere private that I could let it down and then braid it back again. A few strands were loose around my face. I looked around for one and instead began to notice how stunningly beautiful the view was from the steps.

The moon was full and the sea of grass was clearly visible in the silvery light, stretching out and out to the mountains far off. There was a high wind whipping across the crags of Edoras and stirring the sea but there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. The stars were unbelievably bright and for a second my breath caught in my throat and I felt my heart beating. I had a real urge to take down my hair and not braid it back up. I wanted to know what the wind felt like whipping through it. My fingers went to the band in my hair and hesitated.

But suddenly there was a flash of warm light and the doors of the hall slid open again and someone else stepped out onto the high, flat stones. My fingers fell from my hair. Éomer came to stand next to me but he didn't say anything right away. It was so like that night after the ball in Minas Tirith: the two of us standing slightly apart from a party. But I was a different person now, I realized with a start. Just slightly, not in any large way, but in a significant way. We both stood looking out over the sea of grass and his lands, saying nothing.

But after a long, quiet moment I turned to him. "I suppose I won't have to find myself a faithful husband after all. Your men still seem obliging enough."

"You know just how to ruin any moment don't you?" he said, but he was grinning affectionately down at me.

I shrugged. "I'd say it was a talent but I had to practice for years."

"I know." Without asking me for permission he reached over and tucked one of my free strands of hair, which the wind had been playing with, behind my ear. He did it so quickly that afterward I wouldn't have been sure it had happened at all except for the proof behind my ear and the tingling sensation where his fingers had brushed my cheek. I was offended by the impertinence but I was also confused by the acute tremor of awareness that had shot down and out through the soles of my feet. Tingle

Feeling that I was grasping somewhat at formality I began, "Éomer King could you tell me where in the sky to look for the constellation of Eorl? I am afraid I am not sure where it is," I babbled.

"I think I should like to be able to call you Lothíriel," he said instead of answering. "But you need to first call me Éomer."

I swallowed. My brother called him Éomer, as did my father and cousin. It was a great honor for me to be asked to call the King by his first name. There was no reason I should refuse. There was no reason that my palms should begin to sweat and tremble. "All right," I said so softly that it almost didn't come out at all. "Éomer could you please point out the constellation of Eorl to me please?"

"With pleasure, Lothíriel."

Éomer took one of my gloved hands in his and formed it into a fist, with just my index finger pointing out. I mutely let him mold my fingers and then point them up at a cluster of stars. Later when I looked at the constellation of Eorl again I wouldn't be able to see a rider on a horse so much as just a big blur of dots, but when Éomer traced the shape for me with my finger, his body so warm and alive and close to me, I wondered why I hadn't seen it before it was so clear.

When he finished he let my hand drop but he didn't let it go.

Suddenly the door behind us opened again letting a sliver of warm orange light and the sounds of the party within, sounding somewhat more raucous than it had when we'd left (how long had that been? I wondered dimly. A lifetime surely.) Two people tumbled out, holding hands and laughing between rather intimate kisses. Éomer let my hand drop as if it had been a hot coal.

"Oh!" The man almost shouted when he noticed us. When his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light and he recognized his King his eyes went even wider. "My lord, I apologize."

"No need," Éomer said with a slightly knowing smile at the young couple. "It's a lovely night. Why don't you take your lady for a walk in the gardens."

"Yes," the man agreed. The two of them disappeared quickly down the stone steps at almost a run, the lady gathering up her skirts and whooping slightly as they took the last three in a single jump.

"A lovely night," I repeated, turning back towards the hall. "But rather cold."

"As you say," he agreed, pulling open the door to let us back in.

Inside the dancing had changed slightly. No longer were couples dancing together but instead there was a group of women and a group of men dancing separately but then occasionally, at a cue from the music, coming together for a moment to pass through each other, clasping hands and spinning around each other and switching sides of the hall. I spotted Erchirion at the edge of the crowd of observers and, as if reading my thoughts, Éomer pointed him out. "I should return you to your brother."

"All right."

We wove through the party and I found that it was much easier when Éomer was with me. The Rohirrim parted for their King almost instinctively and we soon reached the island of black hair in the sea of blond that was my brother.

"What is happening?" I asked Erchirion when we arrived, skipping the pleasantries completely.

Back in the overwhelming noise, warmth and light of the hall what had happened outside seemed like a dream. Had I simply imagined it? I wondered. Had I imagined the strange, lupine hunger in Éomer's eyes? You didn't imagine your own shivering, stupid desire to be devoured though, I answered myself sharply, and that's what's going to really cause you trouble anyway.

"I don't know." My brother looked at Éomer for an explanation.

"Flower catching." But when he saw no dawning comprehension in our faces he explained. "Watch the flowers in the girls' hair." He pointed to one who was whirling by with a single blue flower, crafted from a scrap of colored material, tied up in her blond hair.

As we watched the music changed and the two groups passed through each other. As they did I noticed something I hadn't before: when the men passed by the girls their hands darted out quick as could be and pulled the flowers from their hair. It must have been harder than it looked as I saw several missed attempts.

"What do you get for a flower?" Erchirion asked.

Éomer looked at me and coloured slightly. "Luck. It's a token of luck." I was sure he was lying and I suddenly remembered that the man who had come out onto the dais had been holding something in his hand.

Erchirion too seemed to know Éomer was lying. "Well, I'm going to dance the next dance then. I could use some...luck," he said with a knowing little smirk meant to go right over my head.

Men, I thought sourly, why do they think I am such an idiot?

The lady who was on Erchirion's arm, one of the ladies who had sat with us at the high table but to whom I hadn't spoken, seemed as unimpressed with their deception as I was. She turned to me. "And what about you, Lady Lothíriel?" she asked in accented but perfectly comprehensible Westron. "I have an extra flower if you would like to dance."

"No!" Éomer said quickly. "Thank you for your generosity, Lady Lithoer but Lothíriel doesn't know the dance steps."

I had been intending to say no as well but then I thought about his silly lie and him refusing to tell me what it meant to be born with many teeth. If he was going to treat me like I was a blushing imbecile in the vein of Lady Winweld, perhaps I should obligingly pretend to be one. "Oh they don't seem too hard. I'm sure I'll manage somehow," I said, keeping my expression completely innocent. "Besides, you seemed confident enough that I could learn the other dance without too much instruction."

"Don't worry," Lithoer said in a voice so low that neither of them could hear as she fastened the flower to my hair. "Down at the bottom of your braid it will be difficult to reach. And I've tied it quite tightly."

"Thank you," I said. "What is the traditional forfeit anyway?"

I had read enough scandalous poetry to know what a woman's flower represented but surely it couldn't be that. "A kiss," she said. "Or a little more perhaps. If you like the man who snatches it." When I flushed, she laughed. "I think it hardly likely anyone will try to claim it anyway. Not with your brother standing right there."

I started to ask what it meant to be born with many teeth but the dance ended and the dancers cleared off the floor, the women laughing and the men either congratulating or consoling each other. Lady Lithoer and I moved out onto one end of the floor and Erchirion and, to my surprise, Éomer moved to the other. The music struck up and we began to dance. I twined arms with Lady Lithoer and some of the other ladies, whirling around and through the mass of dancers. The ladies seemed very excited that I had joined them and I was enjoying myself so much that I was almost surprised when the music changed.

Though it was supposed to be luck that determined who you passed by I was somehow not surprised that one of the men I would pass was Éomer. As we skipped towards each other I met Éomer's eyes and my heart started to beat high in my chest. As we passed I saw him make a grab for my flower but I was through and out to the other side with no tug on my braid. He had missed! I whipped around and met his eyes. I grinned my most taunting grin, elated by my victory, and shook my hair at him so he could see the flower flash behind my back.

To my surprise he smiled back at me with a sort of bemused but indulgent smile.

I didn't worry for the rest of the dance. If the King of Rohan couldn't catch it I doubted anyone else could. I simply gave myself over to the joy of dancing with the other women. I noticed that Lady Lithoer had a way of flicking her head when she passed the men that made it almost impossible to get the prize. She didn't do this when she passed Erchirion. Unfortunately, quick as he was my brother wasn't practiced at this game. He managed to undo the bow but he didn't manage to get it all the way off. Still she seemed pleased that he had tried and I thought perhaps she might give him half a kiss later for the effort.

When the dance ended the four of us regrouped by the high table and both Éomer and Erchirion got new cups of mead though Lady Lithoer and I claimed that we didn't dare. "Bad luck, Erchirion," Éomer said, clapping my brother on the back. "Flower catching requires practice. It's not all in the reflexes."

"And sometimes not even after practice." I said, glancing tauntingly at Éomer but he just smiled that same bemused, indulgent smile.

"Yes, sometimes."

I didn't dance again. I knew better than to get cocky after a lucky victory and there had been something not entirely indulgent in Éomer's smile. If I gave him another chance I was pretty sure that he wasn't going to let me win.

Erchirion and I left soon after that, walking back to our house arm in arm.

Back in my room Eadgyth helped me get out of my clothes. "Sorry they're so dirty. I was dancing," I told her.

"Did you enjoy yourself, my lady?"

I paused for a moment. I had almost forgotten about that confusing moment on the terrace in the joy of the dancing and conversation. What did it mean anyway? Nothing I can't worry about tomorrow, I thought. "Yes, very much," I admitted. As she moved to undo my braid I added, "You can just put the flower with my other jewelry." I thought perhaps that I would wear it the next day if I went up to the hall to return some of my maps to Éomer.

"What flower, lady?" Eadgyth asked.

"The flower in my hair."

"You wore no flower tonight, lady."

Sudden understanding lurched through me. The look Éomer had given me hadn't been quite what I would have expected from him if he had really lost. I snatched at my braid, pulling it over my shoulder so I could inspect its tail. There was nothing but the simple band of leather I had used to keep it in place. The green flower was gone. It could have perhaps fallen off later... or another man could have... I thought desperately. But I knew exactly where my flower was.

I groaned aloud. Practiced indeed! I hadn't even felt him slip it off!

Suddenly his bemused smile seemed to take on a whole new light and I wanted to kick him as hard as I could on the shins. He had known that I still thought it was in my hair and he had let me taunt him about it! That smug... that arrogant... that loathsome...

I bit back a scream of frustration. "Right...I must have forgotten."

My thoughts came back to the present and I folded the letter carefully up and put it into an envelope, sealing it with some wax and pressing my personal seal, a cresting wave, into it. It hadn't exactly been the letter I had intended to write. But I had to write something to Amrothos and I had found this one easy to write. It was what he expected me to say anyway and none of it was technically a lie. We had talked of grain and eaten venison stew. As for my feelings about Éomer, well I wasn't sure what they were myself. What harm could it do to parrot Amrothos feelings back to him?

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! Then head over to Lady Bluejays page to enjoy her reading as she did such a great job editing for me! You can also check out my other work Lothiriel Awakens if you want more from me!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! XO Spake

I studiously avoided Éomer over the next week.

The forfeit was only a small part of my disinclination to see him. He might tease me a little bit but there was nothing cruel enough in him to hurt someone like me. I wasn't even scared of the passion in his eyes when he'd pushed my hair back, so gently. With a man as honorable as Éomer it would almost take care of itself. He would never try to force himself on me, nor would he suggest anything unsavory, and he couldn't very well be thinking of offering for my hand – not with what he knew about me. He could give me that look all he wanted... except... except...

Except that it wasn't Éomer's look that truly frightened me: it was the way I knew I must have looked back at him. What truly scared me was the shivery fire that had raged out of control over my body and the way the thought of his lips on mine made me ache in a strange, languorous way between my legs and deep in my chest.

It wasn't difficult not to see him. I had quite a bit of work to do on the maps and I used that as an excuse not to leave the house, or even my room some days. It was torturous work though. Usually I liked the monotony of it because it freed my thoughts in some way to drift aimlessly from topic to topic. As a rule I found it relaxed me. But there seemed to be a strange, new current in my mind that carried my thoughts, no matter how much I tried to stay them, back to exactly what I was endeavoring to get away from.

I found I was looking forward to the next ranging with almost desperate longing. Getting out of Edoras, and a few days of vigorous exercise, would cure me. It was a silly, girlish fancy and that was all. Perhaps it was a little childish but at least it was perfectly understandable that I would feel something when such a handsome man was so nice to me. It was nothing more than that and it would pass as suddenly as it had come. Or at least that's what I assured myself over and over again.

After my success at keeping out of his way, it turned out that the first time I saw him again was the morning of the ranging.

I woke up early and walked down to the stables with Erchirion to saddle my horse. The stables were a riot of activity with riders running back and forth, packing and repacking their saddlebags and tacking up their horses. Erchirion was almost immediately drawn into about five different conversations, so I just squeezed his hand once to let him know I was leaving and went off to brush Wind Chaser.

I had brought him three nice apples and I fed them to him one after another before I even began to brush him. I took my time, knowing that it would be at least another two hours before we left. My own saddlebags were light, simple affairs, consisting of my clothes, my bedroll, cup, plate, wineskin and a selection of mapping equipment. But most other riders would be carrying quite a bit more and all the gear had to be packed away into what never seemed to be enough space.

I was just about to put his blanket on when steps at the door of his stall drew Wind Chaser's attention. Did I imagine that he straightened up slightly at the sight of his King?

"Hello, Éomer."

"You shouldn't spoil that horse the way you do."

"It gets the job I want done."

He laughed. "You also don't keep your heels down, especially when it counts, and you can only half sit a trot. Does that get the job you want done as well?"

I smoothed the blanket over the horse's back. That was all true, especially about keeping my heels down. "What are you doing here?" I asked instead of replying. He hadn't come to see us off the last time.

"I'm riding out, too."

My head shot up. "You're coming with us?" It had taken all my considerable powers of self-control not to practically shout it. How would I cope with him on the ride with us? I could barely keep my thoughts away from him for two consecutive moments with a stone wall and a considerable distance between us. How would I manage if his bedroll was only a few feet from mine?

He shook his head. "The wild men made a raid on the Western Fold. We're going to bolster the defenses. I'm actually glad I got to see you before we left. We're leaving in a few minutes and I thought you wouldn't come down this early."

"You're going to bolster the defenses?" I was suddenly panicked for a whole different reason. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"You sound like my advisers," he chortled. "Now go on...tell me that I have no heir to inherit the crown. As if I hadn't noticed..."

But I suddenly wasn't really in the mood to laugh. "No, you don't have an heir..." I said slowly.

I was lying to myself if I thought I cared two small coppers about the succession of the crown of the Riddermark. What I cared about was standing right in front of me breathing deep lungfuls of air to laugh, and carelessly leaning against my horse.

"You're sweet to worry, Princess," he said softly. "But I survived all three major battles of the Ring War. If I can't survive a skirmish with the wild men it will be a surprise to me indeed."

"Yes but..." I began, but then realized that I had nothing to say. Or rather none of the million things I had to say I had the right to think, much less speak aloud. So instead I said, "When will you be back?"

"Before Yule, I imagine."

"Yule?" It was months away!

"It's the celebration of the shortest..."

"I know what Yule is!" I snapped.

He laughed. "You woke up on the viperous side of the bed this morning."

"Both sides of my bed are viperous," I hissed through clenched teeth. His obvious good humor made me furious.

"So you keep insisting."

I went to get my saddle from where I had slung it over the door, trying to quell the hot, irrational anger that had swelled suddenly in my breast. When Éomer made as if to help me lift it onto the mare's back, I wrenched it away from him.

He laughed again, and I wanted to slap him for it. "So, what do you want for Yule, little viper?"

"Nothing."

"Truly? Come now, there must be something you want from the Western fold. The wool there is the best in Middle-earth and the women dye it in bright colors. It's quite fashionable, I hear, to have the scarves they make."

I said nothing but cinched the belt on the saddle tight enough to cause Wind Chaser to toss his head in protest. Éomer took my hands off the saddle slowly and released the belt. I stood facing the horse and said nothing. There was an unexpected heat in my face and tightness in my throat.

"You don't want me to go do you." He spoke softly and it wasn't a question.

I said nothing.

"I have to go. My people are under attack. I can't leave them undefended."

I whirled to face him before I even knew what I was doing. "Rohan must be a poor country indeed if their king must ride out to settle every minor border dispute himself," I spat out.

I had spoken without thinking but my viperous fangs seemed to have found some tender flesh. They had always been good at that. Éomer's face clouded over and his jaw clenched involuntarily. For a moment he didn't say anything and it was enough time for me to think of something else to say and not think better of it.

"I don't have to go, Lothíriel. I want to go," he said harshly. "I wouldn't expect a spoiled little brat of the Gondorian court to understand that the people of Rohan need their king to lead them into battle and not crouch behind the walls of their capital city."

"The people and Rohan need their king to accept that he is no longer one of their marshals and that he cannot lead them anywhere if he takes an arrow in his foolish, arrogant chest! Even a brat of the Gondorian court can see that."

"I will thank you not to lecture on my duty, Lothíriel!" He didn't shout because we were in a crowded stable but his voice managed to convey all the same boom and menace as it would have at full volume.

"And I would thank you not to presume to know what I want! Do whatever you want, my lord king and see if I care if you die in this stupid little skirmish."

For a moment his face softened and he reached out to my face with one hand. "Lothíriel it isn't..."

I jerked back from him. "You know what? I've changed my mind. I want to be back in Minas Tirith for Yule. I hate this bleak, wintery country."

The anger was back on his face in an instant. "Well, I hope you get your wish, Princess," he said, voice shaking slightly with fury.

Once he was gone, I sagged against Wind Chaser. Why had I said that? I wanted to run after him and shout that maybe I had meant it but I hadn't meant to say it. But instead I just leaned against Wind Chaser and breathed deeply with my face against his soft coat until I heard Éomer call his riders to leave. Valar keep him safe.

We rode along the River Snowbourn and then the River Entwash. This made me miserable. Even at the pace the wagons forced us to keep, mapping the curvature of the river as accurately as I would have liked was impossible. Scores of times a day Erchirion had to circle back to tell me I needed to catch back up with the wagons, and I obeyed with a sullen, venomous look.

"It barely matters," Erchirion reminded me once when I let out a noise like a growl at his approach. "I've seen the mock ups you've done. They're very good. I'm sure it will be sufficient for anyone who doesn't want to navigate this river by night."

I ground my teeth together. What did I care if it didn't matter to anyone else? I wanted the map to be perfect and the frustration of having to compromise it was like having a burning coal of rage in my chest. I wouldn't admit that my foul mood had to do with anything but the mapping, even to myself.

But to my surprise I found that I was relatively pleasanter than I could have been. In Minas Tirith I had flown into rages, screaming and throwing things across the room, at much less provocation. But whenever I snapped at Gænwyn or Erchirion I felt so much worse afterward that I soon gave up on trying to relieve my misery that way. Instead I took to simply exhausting myself. I woke before anyone else in the camp and walked up and down the river, mapping as much as I could before the camp was broken. At night I stayed by the fire for as long as I could read my notes, making sketches of the map to come.

And when we returned to Edoras, I didn't slow down. I rode with Gænwyn every morning until it was she who had to suggest we return to the city, and then I stayed locked in my room for most of the time, working on my map. I began spending quite a bit of time with Lithoer as well. At Gænwyn's suggestion she started to teach me to card and spin wool, which was apparently quite a suitable pastime for a young noblewoman in Rohan.

Lithoer was a distracting companion, witty, vivacious and even a little ruthless in her appraisal of the other women of the court. I began to seek her out regularly. And through her came to know the court a little better. Before I understood their language, or knew them, it was easy to assume the nobles of the court were like Éomer, Éowyn and Gænwyn: archetypes of the ideal rulers, brave and true to their last breath. I was almost pleased to find that Rohan had its fair share of gossips, sneaks and downright bastards. It was a big relief though, to find that I wasn't interested in any of them.

During tea at Lithoer's one afternoon, a sharp-featured girl a few years older than me from some lands in the Eastemnet had implied that my hair must be poor stuff indeed since I never let it down. Lithoer had started to rebuke her but I simply informed her with a smile that in my country her own gorgeous blond locks, loose as they were, would mark her as harlot. Some of the more intelligent schemers had tried to befriend me but I found them boring and soon let them know it.

"Since you are a stranger in the Mark some people might think that they can take advantage of your kindness or make you ridiculous," Gænwyn said very seriously one morning as we rode together. "If that ever happens you should tell me immediately and I will correct their thinking."

I tried to keep a straight face at the idea of Gænwyn protecting me from a little court foolishness or of anyone 'taking advantage of my kindness' but I couldn't keep from smiling as I informed her I would.

"Éomer is spending Yule at Aldburg," Erchirion said one morning as we sat at breakfast.

While Erchirion was away Eadgyth had let me develop the bad habit of coming to the breakfast table in my long robe over my shift and with my hair loose. When Erchirion returned I just carried on. "If you didn't want me to develop bad habits you shouldn't have brought me to the land of barbarians," I'd said when he cocked an eyebrow at my scandalous attire.

I had also disregarded my father's previous strict ban on books, maps and other things at the table. That morning I was pouring over a list of village populations with a spoon of porridge frozen midway between my lips and the bowl. With winter coming food was become even more scarce in the Riddermark, even in Edoras, and we'd been eating porridge for breakfast for weeks instead of biscuits because there was no butter to be had. But that morning I had found some sugar and even some gooseberries, from Valar only knew where since I hadn't seen them in months, in the market.

"Fine," I said, pretending that I was still looking at the numbers.

Éomer's name had had roughly the same effect as Erchirion striking me unexpectedly with a particularly vicious cane across the face, but I hadn't let it show. After Éomer had left for the Western Fold, I hadn't wanted to admit the roiling mess of embarrassing feelings that I felt for him. But my talent for self-deception, which had always been a point of pride, had done me less good than a silk shawl in driving snow. I hadn't had an appetite for months though I made myself eat. I hadn't slept well, though I made myself get into bed and snuff out the candle like usual.

At first I'd tried to cultivate some anger against him, which I had thought would be easy. But it had been impossible. He'd been so handsome and noble that last morning when I had shouted at him. The concern in his eyes when he talked about his people suffering, and the tenderness in his voice when he tried to explain that he had to go, made it impossible to hate him. Though no one could say that I hadn't tried.

In the end I had just decided that I couldn't possibly be miserable forever. This was just a storm to be weathered, I'd told myself. I only had to stay away from him for long enough and eventually the empty feeling in my stomach would become normal. It was often said of arranged marriages that people grew to love each other. The same must be true about growing not to love someone — you just need to keep trying to make it work.

"Well, would you like to go?"

I tore my eyes from the page, feigning annoyance. "What?"

"I said Éomer is spending Yule in Aldburg. Would you like to go?" he repeated with a grin. "Now I understand why father forbade you to read at the table."

"No," I said, returning to my reading.

"No?" Erchirion sounded shocked. "You've been complaining for months that we never go anywhere and that you want to get out of the city and not just on 'one of my mangy rangeings.'"

I had said almost exactly that a few days before but I had mostly just been trying to keep up my reputation as a misanthrope and grouch, which I felt had been done considerable damage since arriving in Edoras. I had actually begun to enjoy his rangeings, even if they were absolutely mangy. And my life in Edoras I had grown to unequivocally adore.

"I'm making good progress on my maps," I said. "I can't leave."

"That's true ..." Erchirion agreed. "You're making such good progress that you're almost done with them, Lothíriel, and they're great. We can take them with us and show them to Éomer at Yule. I can't wait to see how pleased he will be."

"You go. I'm tired from work and I need to rest."  
"That's almost the opposite of the last thing you said," he pointed out.

I shrugged. "Enjoy yourself. I'll miss you."

Erchirion sighed. "Lothi, I'm not leaving you alone at Yule. That's terrible."

"I'll be fine," I assured him. "I'll go over to Gænwyn's and we'll each have a bottle of wine. I have great fun every time we do that. Maybe I'll go down to the tavern and take in some of the local culture."

He laughed. "I can only imagine you in a Rohirric tavern during Yule."

"Why? I know some of their dances now and I can sit a horse. I bet I would be popular."

He laughed again. "Popular enough to start a brawl, I'm sure. Come on, if you can give me one good reason why you don't want to go to Aldburg for Yule we won't go. But if you can't, then I'm going to insist that we do."

"What are you going to do?" I asked with a laugh. "Throw me over the back of your horse? You can't force me to go."

He grinned. "Sometimes I think I'll never understand you, Lothi. You've been riding out for weeks into some of the remotest parts of the Mark to sleep on the ground and ride all day with not even a glass of wine, much less a fancy ball to keep you going. And you haven't complained..."

"I've complained plenty!"

"And you haven't complained much," he amended. "But now when I ask if you want to go and stay at one of the Great Houses of Rohan and spend Yule with the King and his retinue you won't even give me an excuse as to why you don't want to go?"

"His retinue? It's going to be a party?" I asked.

"Not a large one but I think there will be some of the other great houses represented. Traditionally the King holds a hunt..."

"Fine," I said. "Let's go."

If there were a lot of people around the house avoiding Éomer would be child's play. I had no reason to think that he wanted to see me any more than I wanted to see him. It wouldn't be so bad, I promised myself.

But as the date for departure drew nearer I found that I was increasingly unwilling to go. I thought about faking some strange illness and insisting that I stay in Edoras. I actually considered twisting my ankle during my riding practice. But what I really wanted to do was just crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my head and refuse to go. In the end, however, I found myself up on Wind Chaser's back with my saddlebags packed and shivering in my wholly inadequate (but quite stylish) cloak, trotting after Erchirion's horse through the thick carpet of snow, with Edoras receding behind us.

The ride took most of the day so we arrived at Aldburg just before dark, and I was impressed by my first glimpse of the ancient fortress. With the setting sun casting long red shadows over the snow it was one of the most moving sights I had ever seen.

It was easy to see that Aldburg had begun as a stronghold. Like Helm's Deep, long ago it had been simply a place people fled to in times of need, but the Great West Road, which ran by it, had been like a river of commerce, depositing travelers, goods and materials layer upon layer. And slowly it had grown into the second city of Rohan.

In peace time most citizens might never even see the original city. The old fortress was high above most of the ordinary dwellings, perched precariously on an irregular outcropping of the mountain that on a clear day gave keen eyes the opportunity to see miles down the Great West Road in either direction. Around the lower part of the city there was a fortified wall, like a thin, motherly arm of the mountain behind it reaching around to encircle its children. A rather hazardous looking narrow dirt path wound its way up through the rocks to the old stronghold. Only the main hall and a few things that would be critical in case of a siege – a deep well, the stables and the barracks—were housed inside the high perch.

As we started up the path, the doors of the gate of the inner wall were raised and a small, dark group rode out. My heart, already in my throat from the height and the treacherous drop scant feet from my horse's hooves began to beat a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I told myself that I was being silly, that there was no reason that the King would ride out to meet his guests, but the gnawing pit in my stomach knew better.

"Hail, Éomer King," Erchirion said when they met us on the one place the path widened.

"Hail, Éomer King," I echoed numbly in an almost whisper.

I had forgotten what he looked like on the back of his horse. How the enormous beast was – like a part of him – and how he seemed almost not to need the reins or the saddle. I had said in the stables that Firefoot was pretty because he had been in a box and had his best manners on. But here he looked like the warhorse he was. I had been gasping for breath in the cold whipping winds before, but now my gasps seemed to take on a whole new desperation.

"Hail, Lady Lothíriel and Lord Erchirion," he responded, voice stern. "Welcome to Aldburg." I could tell that he was trying to meet my eyes but I cast them down to my gloved hands, folded neatly on my saddle. "Come...let us retire to more hospitable quarters."

Once in the hall it was as easy as I had hoped to be swept off by the servants to our rooms and our hot baths. I pleaded fatigue and had my dinner brought to me. After which I'd stayed in the bath until the water went cold. I didn't really make any plans for what I would say or do. My best course of action, I knew, was to do nothing at all.

The next day I woke much later than I was accustomed to. In Gondor I had always risen late but I had woken before dawn every day in Rohan. I felt a momentary panic when I woke in full light. Had the ride left without me? Why hadn't Eadgyth woken me? When I realized where I was the panic subsided but was replaced with a different, more subdued, but no less desperate emotion.

I rose and found a basin of water to splash my face with. I put on one of my dresses that had been aired and pressed the night before and plaited up my hair myself. I had gotten quite good at fixing my own hair during the rangeings, with no maids to attend me. I fought the urge to stay in the chair with the single book I'd brought with me from Edoras (an account of a Gondorian who had ventured to the Western Mark almost one hundred years ago). I didn't want to leave what felt like the relative safety of my own chambers.

Even if I didn't happen across Éomer I still felt nervous walking about unaccompanied among the Rohirrim. My black hair marked me clearly as a stranger in their lands and my Rohirric wasn't yet good enough for me to answer the profusion of questions they asked. But hiding was no use: I couldn't very well stay in my chambers for the rest of our stay.

I had been tired the night before and had been unaware of my surroundings, but it was not difficult to find the main dining hall. I was given a breakfast of the usual porridge but there was cinnamon and honey to mix into it and some fresh nut cakes. "Where are the others?" I asked the girl who served me.

She seemed surprised that I spoke Rohirric. "The men have ridden out into the forest, my lady. They're looking for our Yule log."

"My brother, too?"

"Yes, the other Gondorian went with them."

"Are there other ladies?" I asked.

"Yes. They have gone to main city to look for Yule gifts."

"Is it far to walk?"

"It doesn't take long to get down there but it's a bit of a drag up the hill on the way back."

I already had all my Yule gifts. For Erchirion I had spent quite a bit of time drawing a very nice replica of his view from his bedroom window of our house in Edoras – a vista of the grass sea and with some of the city in the foreground. It was traditional to exchange gifts with everyone around you though so I had also packaged up some of my Gondorian bath salts for the ladies (though it pained me to part with them) in pretty little sleeves of silk cloth. For the men I had brought some of the sweet candied walnuts that the Rohirrim made in the winter. But a walk sounded like a fine idea and I had nothing else to do in the keep.

I had brought all my warmest clothes from Gondor and I had commissioned more once I arrived, but it never seemed quite enough. The Rohirrim could wear a simple cloak against the frigid conditions and not shiver, but no matter how many layers of wool, cotton and even silk underwear I donned I found that I was somehow always cold. I walked down to the main city, hoping to sweat away the cold but when I arrived, after a much longer walk than I had thought, I was stiff and miserable.

For perhaps an hour I wandered aimlessly though the main market before a voice called from one of the shops, "Lothíriel!"

Lady Lithoer came out of the shop to greet me with a warm hug. "Hello, Lithoer!" I exclaimed, genuinely glad to see her. "I thought you were going to your home for Yule!"

She laughed. "Why this is my home! Or rather my lands are rather closer to the River Snowbourn but we have a house in Aldburg and we always spend the solstice here." I struggled heroically not to shiver too much when she embraced me but she said, "Why you're cold to the bone. Come have a drink with us!"

They were drinking the hot, spiced wine that was traditional near to Yule and I gratefully accepted a cup with numb fingers, not drinking it but holding it close to my face to revel in its warmth. I was introduced, and the ladies of Aldburg were all very pleased to meet me I was assured over and over. I was asked about the ride from Edoras and quite a bit about my handsome brother but I was too cold and miserable to be very good company. After the wine we strode out into the street again. I mostly trailed along behind the others feeling out of place as they conversed in Rohirric far too fast for me to follow. I bought some ribbons to tie onto the tops of the little silk sleeves of the bath salts and a pair of nice mittens that I thought I might give to Gænwyn when I returned to Edoras. I'd already given her some bath salts as well as a bottle of very good wine that we'd ended up sharing the night before I'd left, but I wanted to show her that I had remembered her during my travels. I also bought Eadgyth a bright, decorative little scarf because she tended to dress very plainly for a maid of her years.

The only other thing that I had noticed was a funny little carved horse in a woodworking shop that I thought somehow looked very much like Firefoot. It was such a silly gift to give the King of Rohan but I was almost certain that Éomer would like it. I picked it up so many times in the shop that the man seemed somewhat nonplussed when I didn't end up buying it. I wondered if I could perhaps buy it and give it to Erchirion to give to him. But how to explain that he couldn't tell Éomer that it was from me? Impossible.

When it started to grow dark we had another glass of wine at the same shop and then the ladies began to prepare to walk back. I started up the path with them but then found my steps faltering. "What is it?" Lithoer asked.

"I...I forgot something in one of the shops. I should go back for it," I said hesitantly.

"We can send one of the men down to get it tomorrow. Come...it's getting dark," she said.

"No, it's fine," I said, knowing that if I didn't buy it then I would lose my courage. "I'll walk quickly to catch up with you. You go on ahead. I'll be with you before you know it," I assured her and without waiting for a reply, I dashed off down the path.

The shop was closed when I arrived but I was able to find the man and he opened it for me again, amused. "I knew you were in love with it the moment you saw it," he said with a knowing smile.

"I'm not in love with him!" I said sharply. "I mean it's a lovely horse and I... I... I just happen to know someone who I think might like it."

Confused by my reaction he elected, very diplomatically, to respond, "As you say, Lady."

When I started back up the path the sun was already low to the horizon. I tried to walk quickly but I was tired and it was bitterly cold and found that I didn't make as good time as I imagined I would have. The wind had increased and was blowing down from the mountain and it was much harder to walk up than it had been to walk down. My thighs began to ache and my breath came with difficulty. But I didn't really begin to panic until the snow came down hard. I would have turned around but I was already almost half way from the city. Fear rose in my chest, I hadn't brought anything for a light if it became well and truly dark and it really was becoming cold. I stumbled once and scrapped both my palms on frozen rocks.

It was almost completely dark when I heard the sound of a horse coming down the path. I didn't look up to see who it was because of the stinging wind but I smiled into my shawl. "Well, it took you long enough, Erchirion. I'm frozen to the core," I shouted against the wind.

When I moved into the lee of his horse I looked up finally and my chapped, frozen lips fell open. The King of Rohan was looking down at me with a murderous expression. "My lord..." I began in surprise.

Wordlessly he reached down and pulled me inelegantly up onto his saddle by the upper arm. I was sure that I would have a bruise there the next morning, but I didn't protest. He looked angrier than I'd ever seen him; far angrier than I ever cared to see him. A wiser girl might have been worried. But up against his chest I was out of the wind and for the first time in what felt like hours, I relaxed, panic seeping out of me like an ebbing tide. I could breathe fully again, though his nearness did nothing to still my wildly beating heart.

He didn't speak as we made our way carefully back. So much for going unnoticed.

The stables were completely deserted I observed, not without a little flutter of fear in my belly. The stable hands were likely in the hall, having super like everyone else with two shreds of sense to rub together.

He dismounted and, before I could get my stiff legs moving properly, lifted me by the waist and set me on the ground as if I were nothing but a child. I brushed the snow off my cloak, adjusted the fall of my skirts and tried to regain a little of my dignity. "Thank you, my lord, for assisting me home. I think I had best be going to get changed for dinner."

I turned to leave but he seized me by the wrist and pulled me back around to face me. "What in the name of Eorl do you think you were playing out there?" he demanded furiously. "It's nearly full dark!" His mouth was a tightly controlled line but his blue eyes were ablaze with emotion.

I tried to wrench my hand from his grasp futility. "I don't need a lecture..." I began peevishly.

"No!" he agreed harshly. "What you need is a good spanking, Princess! Someone should find a switch and see if that will put some sense into your head."

"How dare..."

"The cold here isn't a joke! People die in storms every year!"

"People die quite a bit in raids as well," I retorted. "But apparently it's only natural that you ride off to play warrior..."

"I don't play at being a warrior, Lothíriel!"

I wanted to slap his face. How dare he use my name! Instead I wrenched my arm so hard he would have had to break my wrist to hold on and managed to slip it out of his fingers. "Oh, don't you Éomer?" I was so angry that it didn't seem to matter that he was quite a bit bigger than me, renowned for his temper, definitely not kidding about not 'playing' at being a warrior and the King of the land I was currently in. "Because Valar knows how intelligent and reasonable it is for the King of Rohan to ride off to take care of some minor squabbles on his border when his death would throw his land into chaos and disarray!"

"I have already told you once before: don't you presume to tell me my duty, Princess of Dol Amroth!" he spat out.

"And don't you presume to tell me when and where I can go for a walk!" I returned. "King of Rohan!"

"Béma, woman! How can you call that a walk?" He pointed out at the door of the stable where the wind had picked up again and there was almost nothing visible but a swirling mass of white.

There was nothing reasonable to say to that but I was never one to concede a point. "Don't tell me what to do, Éomer of Rohan! You aren't my father!" I shouted.

"No!" he agreed. "If I was I would go get that switch!"

"You are such a..." I trailed off but we both knew the end of that sentence. The word hung unsaid in the air like a puff of snow.

"Barbarian?" he prompted, his voice dangerously level.

"When you act like this, yes!"

"When I act like what? A reasonable adult? When I tell you how stupid it is to try to walk back up that path in the dark in a snowstorm? Yes, Lothíriel! Really how impertinent of me to come and find you before you freeze solid or fall to your death in the dark! How barbaric and ill-mannered of me to save your silly, spoiled life!"

"I didn't ask you to..."

"You don't have to ask me!" He slammed his fist hard into the side of Firefoot's stall causing the horse to blow out a protest though his nose and the frame to rattle violently. I too must have showed my surprise because suddenly he let out a long, low sigh of a breath, seeming to deflate. "You should go back to hall, Lothíriel before you catch a cold," he said wearily.

I would have paid any amount of money simply to go back to my chambers, pull the blankets over my head and sleep until the New Year when I could slink back to Edoras, but when I opened the door to our chambers Erchirion was waiting for me. He looked furious and almost sick with worry.

"Lothíriel!" He was on his feet. "Lithoer came to say that you hadn't come back from the city yet and Éomer had ridden down to fetch you! What in the name of Dol Amroth were you thinking walking back so late and in the cold! You could have..."

"I am not talking to you about this right now, Erchirion," I cut him off, beginning to strip off my cloak and gloves and lay them by the fire to dry. I was starting to shiver almost convulsively.

"We damn well are talking about this right now!" he shouted, grabbing my shoulder and whirling me around. "I've been sick with worry! What in Middle-earth possessed you to go back to the city at this hour and with a storm..."

I pounced on him. "What business of that is yours, Erchirion?"

"I am your brother and your guardian! As long as you are in Rohan it is my duty to keep you safe! And I can't do that if you are going to do every stupid thing that comes into your head the second I turn my back!"

Rage consumed me. "When? When did you start being my brother, Erchirion? You never cared when Amrothos and I were miserable in Minas Tirith. I was there for the siege of the city and the battle and neither you nor father even knew it until after it was all over! I can take care of myself and I am fine without you or Éomer, so don't you dare yell at me now!"

His face, already twisted in anger, contorted suddenly with an entirely different emotion. "Oh Lothi..."

He stepped forward to embrace me, but I shoved him as hard as I could in the chest. He was so surprised he stumbled back a few steps. "Don't you dare touch me," I hissed, voice low and poisonous with anger like venom.

He put one hand over his mouth and swallowed deep in his throat, looking at me with a pity that made me want to shove him again. When he finally spoke his voice was gruff with emotion. "Everyone always forgets that there is a reason you and Amrothos are the way you are, father in particular, and that isn't fair. But please understand, Lothi that father sent you two to Minas Tirith because he thought it would be best for you."

I laughed bitterly. "How? How could Minas Tirith be the best thing for two children? We were just... we were just babes back then."

"He thought Denethor would protect you better. You have to understand that the situation with the Haradirim was much worse than we had first thought, and we feared war with them. Besides, there was no real female companionship for you. You would have grown up with no one but warriors and servants to keep you company. Father wanted you to be a lady."

"Well I suppose he got his wish. I am nothing but a lady of the court, too silly not to walk into a storm. I am only sorry it doesn't make him happier." I had meant to say it casually but there was a high, fragile tension in my tone that I despised.

"He does love you, Lothi," he said quietly. "And I love you very much."

I tried to speak but the muscles in my throat were clenched so tight that the pain was too intense. I opened my mouth twice, tried to fight back the sudden tears, and finally let my jaw snap shut. I was so blinded by tears I didn't see Erchirion until he had already put his arms around me. I struggled briefly but he just clutched me to him harder. "I don't want to hear it Erchirion," I managed to sob into his shoulder. "Let me go."

After that I was crying so hard it was a long while before I realized that Erchirion was too, though his tears were less desperate. But after a while my body couldn't support any more violent weeping and my tears subsided into little shuddering spasms. Erchirion and I broke apart slightly, though he kept one of my hands in his, and when we looked at each other I think we both realized that our relationship had changed irrevocably.

He smiled at me and wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb before wiping his own eyes with the back of his hand briefly. "I hate how ugly I look when I cry," I said, voice wobbly.

He laughed a little weakly. "You are a very beautiful woman, sister mine, but not when you cry."

"At least I very rarely do it."

He smiled. "I believe that."

"And I believe that such a display calls for a strong drink. Since I have none I think we should drink all the wine I do have." I went to my chamber and fetched back a bottle as well as the cup put in my room to drink from the jug of water. "I'm afraid we will have to share the cup."

I poured the wine and we both drank deeply. Erchirion went to stoke the fire and then we sat on the couch for a long time. We'd both had a long day and should have been tired but though neither of us said much, neither thought much of our beds either.

"There were a few years after you went to Minas Tirith when you and Amrothos were the same sweet little kids you had always been. Perhaps a little more morose but there was none of the..."

"Malice?" I supplied.

"None of the bitterness that came later. And then you spent that summer in the city instead of coming back home. Ever after that...things were just different."

I ignored the unspoken question. I took a deep gulp of the wine and passed it to him. He let the silence rest for a moment but finally, when it was clear I wasn't going to speak, continued. "None of us saw it coming, I suppose. And after that the two of you didn't want to come back."

I stared into the fire. It was my instinct to argue and fight this kind of honest examination of what had happened, to protect myself from the truth. But I was tired of fighting. I was in no state to wield my wit like I normally did: as a spear to keep people at bay. The gradual realization of what I had said in the stables felt like sand being poured slowly into my chest, weighing me down and choking me with regret. After months and months of cursing myself for what I had said the morning of the rangeing, when given the opportunity to make amends I had only made things worse. Valar! Was there a bigger fool anywhere in Middle-earth?

"Father always blamed himself for what happened to the two of you," he continued. "I think that's one of the reasons he's so harsh on you. Guilt that he didn't protect you better..."

"Erchiri, just look at the fire and don't say anything." I cut him off wearily.

He almost smiled at that. "All right."

When finally the wine was gone Erchirion stood and pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead and squeezed my shoulder gently. "I love you, Lothíriel," he said softly.

I swallowed. "I love you too, Erchirion."

It was only later when I was shivering under the cold covers with the candle snuffed that I realized that it was the first time in my adult life I had ever said those words.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning I woke early but instead of getting out of bed, I rolled over and pulled the covers up. Last night's fight spun over and over, whirling around in a dark little cave in my head. I was furious at Éomer, but somehow it was a blessed relief. After months of trying to hate him I felt vindicated. I had known all along, I tried to tell myself, what he was really capable of, what he was really under that facade of nobility. How dare he? How dare he speak to me in that tone! And that talk about switching me! Never in my life had anyone spoken to me like that!

"Come on, wake up, little sister," Erchirion said softly when he came into my room some hours later. He rubbed my legs through the covers and pulled back the top of them to reveal my tousled hair. The fight had brought us closer, there was no questioning that, but he was treating me with a strange, tender reverence usually reserved for people who have recovered from an illness that brought them near death.

"The sun is already high," he prompted.

"I know," I said sourly. "That's why I pulled the blankets up."

"Oh, don't be like that," he said gently. "Get up. I want to go show Éomer your maps."

"Fine." I pointed. "They're on that table."

"Lothi, you did all the work. You should come. I'm sure he'll want to thank you himself."  
Only if he hit his head on the way out of Firefoot's stall last night – hard enough to make him forget the last few months, I thought. "I'm not feeling well, Erchirion. I think I'm going to stay in bed today." It was going to be tedious to stay in bed with nothing to do but it was certainly better than the alternative.

Erchirion felt my forehead gently and gave me a small, questioning look. "You seem fine. Come on, get dressed and come down and show him the maps, then you can come back and return to your bed."

"I really don't feel like it."

"You really don't want to see his face when you show him?" He said it pointedly, letting me know that he knew Éomer and I had fought.

"No. I don't want to see his face..." I said evenly and just as pointedly. Ever again, I added silently.

He felt my forehead again. "Are you really feeling poorly, Lothíriel?"

"Yes."

"Well, I suppose it can wait," he said finally. "But I won't do it without you. This was your project and you put a lot of work into it. But perhaps it's better this way. We're riding out for the Yule hunt in a half an hour anyway..."

I swung my feet over the side of the bed. "Fine, let's go now."

I could see a good opportunity when it presented itself. Éomer would be expecting me to avoid him for at least a day and if they were leaving in half an hour it would be a brief exchange. But though the fight had been short it had been brutal, I reminded myself with a little swell of dread. Neither of us were one to mince words and it had been an absolute competition for the most ludicrously hurtful thing we could say. A competition I had apparently won, though it gave me less satisfaction than I would have thought.

We made our way to Éomer's private study, Erchirion carrying the pile of maps under his arm. He knocked once and that voice which sent a strange awareness through my limbs answered. "Come!"

He was looking down at some parchments on his desk when we came in and for a second I simply stared at him. Behind him there was a roaring fire, giving heat and light to the room, and he was dressed for the hunt in a dark green tunic and black leggings. On his tunic was embroidered a roaring lion, his personal crest. The heat from the fire washed over me and for the first time since I had left for the village the night before, I felt truly warm. I wanted to stay in his study all day. I had to remind myself to grab onto the tails of my icy anger. They were my only armor against his own harsh feelings.

"Hail, Éomer," Erchirion greeted him.

"Hail," I repeated, somehow unable to force his name out no matter how I tried.

When his eyes flickered over me the flash of emotions in his face was unreadable. There was some anger but mostly there was a vast reserve of something else that I wasn't quite able to place. Scorn perhaps? But no, I knew what scorn looked like and that wasn't it at all.

"Hail," he replied.

"We've come to show you the maps. Lothíriel finished them the week before we left Edoras." Erchirion said eagerly, going over and spreading them out on Éomer's desk.

I was really proud of the maps. They were as detailed as I could make them in the limited time I'd had during the rangeings, and I'd done a very good job of choosing landmarks. Any rider with a lick of sense would never be lost with one of them, I was sure. And then over the landmarks I had carefully copied the names of various villages along with their populations noted beneath. Still, I felt a sharp flicker of nervous embarrassment as Erchirion showed them, for the first time, to probably the only person whose opinion really weighed with me.

Éomer looked down at them for a long moment without saying anything, studying them all carefully in turn. I had meant to let Erchirion do all the talking but I found that I was unable to help myself. "I wrote the dimensions of this part of the river from memory so I'm not sure they're quite right." I gestured to a section of the River Isen. "We rode by it, and I wrote down all my notes as usual but they were ruined in a storm coming back. Also we could see the fold of some kind of valley up here." I pointed at one of the foothills of the White Mountains. "But I didn't insist we ride into it so I just left it blank. When I got back and realized that all the villages at the base get their water from mountain springs except this one I wished we had because looking at the map it's obvious that the source of the spring must be up there and I was thinking it might not be difficult to divert the water in some way so it came to them too. For the moment they're walking almost two leagues to this stream..."

My voice faltered. His expression was unreadable and it took all I had not to blush slightly. "What are the numbers underneath the village names?" he asked.

"Oh, the village names!" I exclaimed. "I'd forgotten about them. I'm sorry if I've made a hash of writing them down but I just tried to listen to what they were saying very hard and then wrote it out letter by letter..."

"The numbers..." Erchirion prompted me.

"Oh yes, populations," I said.

"So..." Erchirion prompted Éomer now. "What do you think?"

Éomer rubbed a hand over his beard and to my surprise he smiled right at me, a dazzling flash of teeth that made a heat quite different from that of the fire wash over me. "I think that if there were lady-knights in Rohan I would have to knight your sister for this."

Erchirion laughed. "You could make her an honorary member of one of your éoreds perhaps?"

"I don't think I would enjoy that very much," I said as coolly as I could through a blush of pure pleasure, "though perhaps one of those enormous great spears would look very fine over a fireplace." I was practically glowing with pride. I wasn't used to being praised for my character. Any genuine compliments I got were usually for my clothes.

Erchirion squeezed my arm affectionately. "I think we can find one for you back in Edoras." "Can more of these maps be made?" Éomer asked. "If you would be willing to teach someone in Edoras how to copy them I would be very grateful...I'd like to give at least one to each of my Marshalls and then another to..."

I had anticipated this question. "I've been reading about techniques for copying maps. And I think the best way if you need them in a hurry would be something they do in the south of Gondor. You just need a very thin sheet of special paper which you can trace the map onto.' I smiled at him. 'I can send for some if you like.' I pushed aside the expense of it, sure my father would pay. 'Then it's a matter of getting a very bright candle that you set behind the thin sheet and you set the paper of your new map in front of that. The shadows of the ink are then simply inked in on the new map. You can even change the size of the map by changing the distances between the thin sheet and your new map."

When we finished talking about the maps Erchirion and Éomer began to discuss the possibilities it opened up. It was almost exactly as I had hoped. They had been having difficulty communicating, having to say things like 'the first village on the left fork and past that village where the raid was last year 'or 'the second valley away from the River Limlight towards the mountains but not the one with twenty villages, the one with only about seven.' Now it was a matter of pointing to where they meant and saying. "There. Let's put the distribution point there."

The map also showed where the places that were really struggling were. "I hadn't realized this branch of the river had been hit so much harder," Éomer said, looking at my little numbers under the names. "We should change the amount of grain we are sending."

These specifics didn't interest me though. I just let the tone of their excitement wash over me as I stared into the fire and thought about all the places I had seen on my rangeings. I was surprised to find that I was almost thinking wistfully of those rides. Now that the maps were made there would be no reason for me to go with Erchirion again and that filled me with an unexpected melancholy.

The rides had been miserable some days. There had been a night when it had rained so hard that my bedroll was almost washed away and had ever after smelled of damp no matter how long or often I left it out in the sun. There had been a day when I had been stung by a bee on my index finger. It had throbbed painfully while I tried to take detailed notes on a particularly complicated river bank as we rode by, Erchirion insisting all the while that we had to ride faster if we wanted to make it to the next inn by nightfall.

But there had been moments of transcendent joy as well. I remembered one day when we had arrived at a village early in the day. The men had had to unload all the grain and distribute it but the terrain had been so easy to map I had finished before the midday meal. Erchirion had suggested that Gænwyn and I could help unload the grain if I wanted. I had laughed and gone to the nearest inn to see if a glass of wine could be bought at any price. To my pleasant surprise there had been a bottle of sweet summer wine still kept in the store as if by a miracle and since the day had seen a fluke of warm weather we had been able to drink it at a table they'd moved out onto the lawn for us, watching the men work as we drank. Afterward, in the glow of the wine, I had magnanimously announced that Erchirion had decided to buy everyone a round of mead at the same inn since they'd worked so hard and had enjoyed unprecedented popularity for days afterward.

And then there were the children of the Mark. I had never been particularly interested in children. All the ones I had known were spoiled little brats of the court who I liked best when they were sulking because at least then they were quiet. But in Rohan everywhere I went the blond children stared and pointed at my dark hair and whispered 'elf' to each other. I had always liked people who liked me first, and I found that the children of the Mark and I got along just fine. At first I liked their reverent solemnity because, again, it kept them silent. But soon I found that they were easy to win over with a few tricks and much more fun once they began to talk.

They were so easy with their affection. Unlike the little Gondorian Lords and Ladies, who were always treated as if they were made of fine china, the Rohirrim children literally begged to be picked up, tossed about and lifted up onto the back of my horse for a little ride around the village (they were all better riders than me but very few had horses of their own). After knowing a child for a single afternoon I would find myself picking them up when we had to ride out and giving them a little shower of kisses before passing them back to their mothers. For the first time I began to think of myself as someone who liked children.

Erchirion and Éomer were still talking at a rapid, excited pace when there was a knock on the door and one of Éomer's riders came in. "Éomer King the riders are ready."

Éomer's eyes flashed to me for a second. He sighed and gave a look as if he didn't really want to stop his conversation with Erchirion. As the lord of the house however he could hardly stay home during the Yule hunt. He nodded slowly. "Fine. We are coming."

After they were gone I walked down to the main hall to find the other ladies were decorating the hall for the feast that night. They had gathered pine branches and were arranging them into wreathes to hang around the hall. It smelled like a forest and Amrothos would have said something very cutting about such simple decorations, but I found that it was somehow a very pleasing smell.

Lady Lithoer spotted me almost as soon as I arrived. "Lothíriel! How glad I am to see you!" she cried, coming forward to clutch my hands. "I feel awful that you walked home alone. I really should have insisted that you walk with us! I knew better, but by the time I really started to worry we were too far to go back for you."

I waved her off, blushing slightly. "I hadn't expected my errand to take so long. It's not at all your fault."

She shook her head. "You are a guest in our country and you do not know how dangerous the snow can be here!" she insisted. "I should never have let you brave the danger unknowingly. Why just a few weeks ago one of the children from the city died walking just the same path as you after dark!"

"Oh?"

She nodded. "A little girl who was walking back from the keep after nightfall. Éomer King was the one who found her and he was furious at the guards for letting her leave so late. He relieved them all of their duty and made them go with him to inform the family."

Suddenly Éomer's rage at what I had done seemed remarkably less like the high-handed meddling it had the night before. And my flippant decision to go back for the horse seemed a lot more foolish. I remembered a moment when I had almost slipped on an icy patch of the road. And what if he hadn't come for me? Would I have made it back at all? I felt the anger drain out of me, replaced by the cold sinking feeling that perhaps I had been entirely in the wrong. The flimsy protection of my own indignation seemed to melt away before me like a snowflake on warm blond eyelashes with furious and terrified eyes looking down at me through them.

"I shall be more careful in the future."

Watching the women make the wreaths, I remembered suddenly that I had never asked Feleas to teach me to weave flower garlands and I wondered what she was doing in Minas Tirith these days. I wondered if I could write her a letter. I could include one with a letter to Amrothos but he would likely not be counted on to pass it along. "Lithoer," I said suddenly. "Could you please teach me to weave those wreaths?"

In the heat of the hall, with the wreaths to make and decorate, I found the ladies much less intimidating than I had the day before. They were very nice about showing me how to construct my wreath and complimented me more than I deserved for my taste. "You have an artist's eye," one of them said when I held the finished product aloft to inspect it.

For a moment I thought she was making fun of me and I was just formulating a very biting response when I looked at her and realized that she was smiling completely guilelessly at me. "Thank you," I said awkwardly, blushing at the retort I had been seconds from lashing at her like a whip.

Old habits, I thought bitterly, are harder to unmake than the ring of power.

After we had decorated the great hall it was almost evening so we retired to our quarters. I took a very long bath using my very favorite rose scented bath salts and washed my hair with my very best perfumed soap, and then carefully dried it by the fire. I felt extremely alone as I sat by the fire, carefully spreading my hair out before the flames. Getting ready for a party, putting on my best clothes and arranging my hair so carefully made me miss Amrothos with a painful melancholy. Perhaps it was just the fight I'd had with Éomer, which, quite apart from any troubling extra emotions I might feel for the man himself, made me feel rejected and out of place in what was literally his country.

The dress I had brought for that evening was a shimmering silver silk. It was made of a single piece of fabric and cut almost ridiculously conservative, with only a small circle of my chest visible at the neck and a high-collar that had been fashionable the generation before. But it made a mockery of this old-fashioned look by being so fitted in the bodice and with the heavy, sweeping recently designed skirt. With it I wore soft silver shoes, gloves and a dark, blood-red ribbon in my hair.

For a moment I stood in front of the mirror and fastened the ribbon in my hair in the fashion of the Rohirrim—clasping two strands for the front together in the back and tying them with the ribbon but leaving the great mass of my dark hair down. I found that I liked the look quite a bit. I did feel it made me look rather like a loose women but quite an appealing one. I laughed at my folly and quickly twirled my hair up into a simple bun, winding the ribbon once around my head and fastening it below the bun.

Not a moment too soon either for there was a knock on the door to my antechamber. "Come in, Erchi."

I came out of my bedroom to greet my brother but it was not Erchirion who was waiting for me in the small room.

Éomer was already dressed for the feast in dark fine breaches, soft, supple boots and a matching black tunic with the silver horse of Rohan as the emblem. Our eyes met and I stopped short, letting my hands fall from where they had been fiddling with the ribbon. I swept him a curtsey. "Hello, my lord."

"Hello, Lothíriel."

"I was expecting Erchi..."

"He went to escort Lady Lithoer," he explained. "I said I would escort you down."

"That is uncommonly gallant of you."

"I was looking for an excuse to talk to you."

I searched for something to say to that, but came up with nothing. He had no trouble with words, though.

"I've wanted to apologize to you since you left the stable last night. Well, perhaps not exactly since you left. It took me a few hours before I calmed down and realized what I had done. I won't apologize for being angry with you for walking home alone. That was a very foolish thing to do, but I will apologize for the very...ungentlemanly things I said."

Another girl might have been displeased with an apology that was also a repetition of the assertion that she had been wrong. But after all, I hadn't been willing to apologize at all and I was mightily ashamed of some of the things I had said. It seemed fair enough to me. The fury that surged through me, the reason I wanted suddenly to slap his face stemmed from entirely different motivations.

How could he stand to be so vulnerable? How could he be so stupid as to present such target to me? It was almost mesmerizing, the open look of uncomplicated remorse on his face. He should know better than to trust someone like me, I thought angrily. A few well-chosen hurtful remarks about his manners, his people or his sister and I could land such a stinging bite it would never fully heal. If I could think fast enough I could probably make sure he would never trust anyone so fully ever again.

It would be a kindness, a voice in my head that sounded remarkably like Amrothos whispered. Show him what people are really like before someone else does first. Show him what you are capable of...what everyone is capable of.

But I knew the price of that particular kindness. I could destroy his trust in people and maybe save him some pain later for if he was stupid enough to give me that sort of power over him he was stupid enough to give it to others who didn't deserve it either. But he would never look at me again. He would hate me until the end of his days, I was sure. And as much as I wanted to pay the price of that, I couldn't do it. Even if he would never look at me quite the way I wanted him to I found I couldn't give up all hope of a friendship.

Amrothos had once told me that there should never be anything in your life or your mind that you couldn't watch burn for a price. Until that moment I had thought that I had managed that reasonably well. But I couldn't watch Éomer burn. No matter how selfish it was, I wanted him for myself in whatever capacity that was possible.

I brushed one hand over my face uncomfortably. "Éomer...if anyone should be apologizing it's me. And not just for last night but for that morning in the stables...I don't know what came over me but I didn't mean what I said...any of it. "I spoke haltingly. It had been so long since I had apologized for anything I had almost forgotten how.

The corner of his mouth twitched up into a smug little smile that should have been infuriating but somehow made him heart-wrenchingly handsome. "I know that, Lothíriel... You aren't the liar you think you are. It shows in the maps you made how much you love the Mark."

I frowned, irked by that. "Still...I shouldn't just say any little thing that comes into my silly head..."

"It's already forgiven," he cut me off.

I usually never had trouble taking things but I found that I was uncomfortable with being forgiven. The cracks I had made at his country were particularly troubling me. He took a step forward as if to take my hand but then seemed to think better of it. "Besides...the way I grabbed your wrist. That was absolutely inexcusable. I will never do that again."

"Or spank me with a switch?" I teased.

To my infinite surprise he actually blushed. I had never thought him capable of that. Before I saw it, I would have found it easier to imagine him in one of my dresses than in a moment of shame. "I didn't mean that even as I said it. Lothíriel...you must know that I would never hurt you."

I thought back to that moment in the stable and realized that I did know it. When he had grabbed my wrist I had felt no fear, only a cold kind of contempt for what I knew was an empty gesture. I had hated that he dared to touch me in a moment when I was so consumed by my rage, but, great warrior that he was, it hadn't even occurred to me to fear physical violence from his anger.

"I know that," I admitted.

"Good," he said, clearly relieved. "Though I am serious when I say I want your promise never to walk that path alone."

"Fine. If you promise never to try to play my father ever again I suppose one concession is a reasonable price."

"It isn't an unreasonable..."

"And everything you do is reasonable?"

Suddenly he laughed. "Let's not fight over the bones of an argument," he said jovially. "We can talk about the path tomorrow. Let's just put it behind us for Yule."

"Fine," I agreed.

"And speaking of Yule," he said, drawing a package from behind his back. "It isn't what you asked for in Edoras but I did get you something."

I laughed. "So you were sure I was going to forgive you?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

He shook his head with a laugh and a smile charming enough to make me feel slightly dizzy. "Not at all. I wanted to be ready in case you demanded a higher price for peace between us."

"So now you think my good will can be bought?"

"Are you offended?"

I considered for a moment. "No...I suppose it can be."

The package was simply wrapped in a scrap of green wool and I went to put it in my room to be opened on the morrow at sunrise, but he forestalled me. "I want you to open it now."

"But it's traditional..." I began.

"Just open it. Let's say I want to see what you think of it."

I pulled back the wrapping and inside was a small, velvet box about the size of Éomer's closed fist. It looked quite old. And although some of the velvet had been rubbed bald in places, it was quite rich. Inside was a beautiful bracelet of beaten silver. The band was formed by the shapes of running horses, so finely and beautifully formed that it was almost surprising to see that they weren't actually moving. Without a second thought I took it from the box and turned it over in my hands, noticing the way that there was no beginning or end to the horses. They simply ran forever in their endless circle. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry I'd ever seen.

But it was obviously very costly and probably an heirloom.

"It was my mothers," he said, as if guessing my thoughts. "Éowyn doesn't ever wear jewelry and I thought of everyone I had ever met you would get the most joy out of wearing it."

"Éomer..." I said softly. "I can't accept this."

I knew he hadn't intended it in that way but in Gondor this was a fine enough piece of jewelry to be an engagement gift. Wearing it in my home country I would be sending a very clear message to anyone who saw it that I was intended for Éomer.

"Come now, Lothíriel. We've just made up from a fight. Surely you owe me at least a few moments of studious politeness," he said. "And it wouldn't be at all polite to refuse my Yule gift."

"But Éomer...," I protested.

He took the bracelet from my fingers and gently captured my hand, trying to slip it on. But I pulled my hand back a little bit, knowing that once it was on I would never want to take it off again. He didn't let go of my hand but he didn't slip the bracelet on either.

"Think of it as a gift for all the work you did on the maps too," he said. "Just until I get you a spear."

My face flamed. "Éomer you can't give gifts like this in Gondor...not without...not without expecting something in return."

"I do expect something. I expect you to wear it."

"Don't pretend like you're that dense," I said, but without the bite I had intended to put in my words.

"This isn't Gondor. The only way to ask for a maiden's hand in Rohan is to give her a horse, not a piece of jewelry."

"I suppose I should have guessed," I said with a sigh and a laugh. "But I still can't..."

"You can't expect to go unrewarded for those maps," he finished firmly. "You have no idea what a great service you've done for the Mark...and for me, by making those."

I hesitated and looked at the bracelet longingly. Seeing his opportunity Éomer slipped the band over my hand and settled it onto my wrist. "There...now that that's resolved we should go down to the feast."

"No wait!" I said. "I have a Yule gift for you, though I'm afraid I didn't wrap it and it's not near as fine as yours." I dashed back into the room and dug through my little satchel until I found the little wooden horse that had caused me so much trouble. I put it behind my back and then went out to the antechamber. "Ready?" I asked.

He nodded, and I presented it to him with a little flourish.

For a second he just looked at it a little nonplussed. But then he took it gently and solemnly. "Why, it's lovely. Thank you very much..." he began.

"It's Firefoot!" I said impatiently. "Don't you think it looks just like him?"

For a second he looked confused then his face broke into a disbelieving grin that he seemed to try to stifle twice before it just broke out of him in great peals of laughter. Indignantly, I tried to snatch the horse back from him but he closed his hands around it protectively. "I hadn't thought this studious politeness business would be so one sided," I said hotly. "In the future should we quarrel I don't think I will be observing this tradition again..."

"No... no... it's a very fine horse," he gasped between laughter. "A true Mearas." But then his laughter took him again and didn't subside for several moments.

I glared at him hotly, though I honestly thought it kept him going for longer than he would have if I hadn't looked so angry. "Well, if it's a nice horse, what exactly is the problem?"

He had to stifle his laughter to answer me. "Well, it's just that she's a very nice horse. This is a mare, Lothíriel."

"No!" I gasped. This time when I tried to snatch the horse back he let me have it. I flipped the horse over and found that indeed he was right. "How did you know that without looking?" I demanded.

He doubled over in laughter again. "Her lines! It's plain as day. A beautiful runner I'm sure, and could outstrip Firefoot over a long distance I'd wager. But she's certainly a lady."

I looked crestfallen. "I didn't mean to..." I began.

"It's a very charming mistake," he assured me, a patronizing smile twitching lips and infuriating me. "I will treasure her always. But I don't think I will be telling Firefoot about this. First you call him 'pretty' and now this. He might feel he needs to run someone down in front of you so that you're properly impressed by him."

"I really hadn't meant..."

"I know."

"You're going to tell everyone about this, aren't you?"

"Only everyone you know."

"How reasonable of you."

Down at the feast the wooden horse was an enormous success. It was passed around the party while Éomer told the story over and over and roared with laughter every time. It was explained to me almost endlessly that the slope of her neck and the shape of her flanks and legs meant that she simply couldn't (couldn't!) be taken for anything else but a mare. Even Erchirion crowed that it was obvious to him what she was. I took the joke with as much good cheer as I could, laughing the first through to the tenth time I was teased about it, and gritting my teeth for the next hundred. If anyone even noticed my new silver bracelet they didn't remark on it.

The hunt had been a success and we ate well on roasted venison and succulent quail and even two small wild boars. We weren't a large party so after dinner there was no dancing. A bard entertained us with some tales, which I found quite diverting, and a few heroic songs. One of the songs was about the battle of Pelennor fields and when it came to the verses about Éomer I found that I shivered, though it was hot in the hall from the enormous Yule fire. Of course I had known the story before that night, about how he had led that hopeless charge against the armies of the Enemy but I'd never heard it told since I knew the man. I didn't like to think about him in a moment when he was so far from hope that all that remained was to take as many of his enemies with him.

After that some of the guests sung or recited poems. Even Éomer sang with some of his riders a ballad about a young man, on the brink of a hopeless battle, who thinks about the maiden he will never confess his love to, as he sharpens his blade. Éomer had a nice deep, confident voice that flowed through my chest like warm brandy.

We were begged for a Gondorian entertainment too. Erchirion obligingly sang a song but I could not be persuaded, though I was heavily urged, even to recite a poem. "No, no, I have no talent for recital. And my singing voice is no voice at all."

Only Erchirion was on my side, having heard me sing before.

As in Gondor, the Rohirrim thought it was good luck to stay up all through the longest night of the year so after the recitals, though it was quite late, we decided to go for a walk in the gardens. After that we went up to the battlements and Éomer sent for hot wine and buns to be brought to us there. The wine was delicious but quite a bit stronger than I was used to so I only had a few sips of mine. Then we walked back to the hall to warm up in front of the fire and to hear a few more stories from the bard.

The bard had just finished a particularly moving story about an elf lord who takes a mortal woman as his queen and the anguish of his love for her, when Éomer stood and stretched. "I feel we are reaching the darkest hour of the night," he said in Rohirric.

There was a buzz of excitement from the Rohirrim and I turned to the lady on my right. "What does the darkest hour mean?" I asked.

"We're going to..." she said a word I didn't know in Rohirric.

"Oh?" I said, not liking to admit that I didn't know what she'd said. "What shall I do to prepare?"

"Get your warmest cloak!" she replied.

I didn't like the sound of that at all but Erchirion and I went to our rooms obediently to fetch our warmest clothes. "What do you think is going on?" I asked Erchirion.

"I asked Éomer. He said we're going down to the fountain to swim."

I laughed at that. The fountain stood in the wide courtyard between the main hall and the stables. Water bubbled up from the underground reserve to the well first where it was collected in the main hall but then spilled over into the fountain before trickling down the face of the mountain in a stream that ran parallel to the path up. It wasn't elaborately carved as a Gondorian fountain would have been but it had a wide, deep basin. In the summer I imagined it would be perfect for swimming but it must have been frozen over for months. Dismissing the idea of bathing in it as ridiculous, I wondered what we really would be doing.

But I had been wrong about it being frozen over. There were enormous chunks of ice floating in it but it was clear that someone had spent a good part of the afternoon shattering the surface of the pool.

The Rohirrim whooped and shouted when they saw it, giddy with a strange, buzzing anticipation. Erchirion and I exchanged a look of dismay and disbelief (dismay on my part, disbelief on his). A servant had accompanied us down from the main hall with a bottle of fortified liquor and some small cups. He poured generous portions and passed them around. To my surprise the ladies accepted cups too and threw the drink back with cheerful determination. Erchirion reached for a cup himself and feeling resigned, and not at all pleased, I stuck out my hand as well.

As I accepted it I realized that all the Rohirrim were looking at me expectantly, waiting to watch how a Gondorian lady would drink what I knew from the smell was a very strong drink. I had never liked liquor but I tossed it back in a single swallow and, though I shuddered mightily at the taste and sensation of it sliding down my throat, managed to drink it all. This was met with a roar of approval and someone slapped me on the back, hard enough to almost knock the cup from my grip, which was loose from the shuddering.

When I looked back up I realized that Éomer was stripping out of his cloak, tunic and shirt. I didn't bother to try not to stare as he pulled the shirt off and his chest, which was broad and muscular enough to break any maiden's heart, was exposed in the moonlight. Next he stripped out of his outer leggings, leaving only his thin under leggings and stepped out of his boots. Then, without another word he ran flat out towards the fountain, smoothly stepping onto its lip and diving into the water with a single, graceful movement. He disappeared through the black surface of the water with barely a ripple and for a long, silent moment it was almost as if he hadn't been there at all. But then his head broke the surface again with a whoop of joy. "Eorlingas!" he shouted in a voice that had never sounded more alive. "Come, join your king!"

With an answering whoop all the Rohirrim began to strip out of their clothes. Even the ladies shed their cloaks and began to pull their dresses over their heads. Like kisses at Beltane, this was a tradition that would have been scandalous any time other than on its proper festival day but was taken as part and parcel of the celebration. But the pass on impropriety wouldn't mitigate the temperature of the water. I looked at Erchirion. "I think he just called the Eorlingas. As children of Gondor it would practically be an insult to King Eless..."

"Fine. You stay right here then," Erchirion said, beginning to strip off his cloak, and not bothering to disguise the fact that he was looking at Lady Lithoer.

I gave a long suffering sigh. "I will be telling King Elessar about this treason."

By the time I had gotten my cloak off most of the Rohirrim were already running for the fountain. I hurried up, pulling off the cloak and wincing as the wind seeped in for the first time. But there was no backing out now. I pulled the rest of my winter vestments off and then, hesitating only a minute longer, my dress. Underneath I had a simple silk shift but I might as well have been naked. The wind came through it like it didn't exist and when it slapped against my skin it was like a little icy bite. I slipped off my shoes last and gasped as the snow closed over my feet, a sensation like putting them into fire. The cobblestones below the snow felt like burning coals.

I didn't quite run out as everyone else had, but more hobbled along, cringing as each foot was put into a new, fresh patch of snow. "Run!" Lithoer called from the water. "The snow is the worst part!"

Everyone else had dived right in, but I hesitated when I stood on the edge of the fountain. The water below me was deep and pitch black. Just for a second I thought about going back to the stables and putting on my clothes again but then I thought about that night in Edoras where I had wanted to be naked under the wind and the stars. Here my wish had come true! Though admittedly not in a way I had ever imagined. With a shriek of fear, I stepped off the ledge.

The sensation of the water closing over my head was like getting kicked in the chest by a horse. The air left my lungs and for a second I forgot to kick for the surface. At every point on my body there was an icy dagger pricking my flesh and my head swum slightly with the overwhelming sensation. But then I remembered that it was either swim or drown. I kicked awkwardly for the surface, limbs numb and strangely disconnected. For a moment I thought I wasn't going to reach the surface in time. I had let all the air out of my lungs involuntarily on impact and I didn't seem to be making any progress by flailing my heavy, clumsy extremities. But then a warm hand in the dark grabbed my arm and dragged me the extra few feet to the surface.

"I... I...th…th…th…thought we agreed no more wr…wr…wr…wrist grabbing." I mumbled through frozen lips, gasping for air.

He laughed. "That was your upper arm, Princess. I never said anything about upper arms. Besides, I've seen more than one person forget how to swim when the cold hits them for the first time. I didn't want to take any chances with... a map maker like you."

"Wh…wh…wh…why in the name of Eorl did we go at the d…d…d…darkest hour of the night? You said that since it was the darkest hour of the n…n…n…night we had to go...why? Even the afternoon would be b…b…b…better than this!"

He grinned. "Otherwise it wouldn't be proper! Now swim princess and get your heart rate up or you'll freeze where you are and sink like a stone."

I tried a tentative dog paddle. It had been years since I had swum and the last time had been in Dol Amroth before I'd gone to Minas Tirith, where the salty water felt like a warm bath. This was somewhat different. My breath was an icy fog before me that came in gasps and every time I moved I regretted stirring the cold water passed my body.

But after a few minutes I found that my body had adjusted slightly and I was no longer quite so miserably cold. I paddled over to Lithoer, who my brother was circling like a fish in the icy stream and laughing uproariously as she tried to splash him. I swam quietly up behind him and tried to push him under the surface of the water as we had done as children in the sea. But he had always been quite a strong swimmer and managed to hold my weight as I pushed myself up onto his shoulders (regretting it instantly the second I left the water where at least I was protected from the chill of the wind). And when I finally gave up, he simply rolled me off his shoulders and dunked me back into the frozen stream. When we stopped tussling I was really out of breath and had started to shiver uncontrollably, though I didn't feel the cold anymore.

"Come on," Lithoer said. "We should get out."

"I want to stay in," I complained. "It doesn't feel so cold anymore."

"That means you need to get out."

We swam to the edge of the ice and pulled ourselves out ungracefully. We were all stiff with cold and the first bite of the wind was almost unbearable. I shrieked a little wild cry as we ran back to where we had left our clothes. Most of the guests had gotten out of the water already and the women had ducked into the stables. Lithoer grabbed her clothes and motioned me to follow her. Inside the stables I found to my shock that the women were stripping off their shifts and pulling their gowns over naked flesh. They were dancing on the hay with their frozen feet while the horses watched them indifferently.

"I c…c…c…c…can't do that!" I whispered through frozen teeth. "It's not pr…pr…pr...Oh, never m…m…m…mind." A little more impropriety was just a drop in a frozen icy lake after what I had just done.

I stripped off my shift and let it drop to the filthy floor, then I pulled on my silky, silver gown, relishing the feeling of it against my naked skin before quickly pulling on my cloak, muffler and everything I had brought with me. I was still cold to the core but the feeling of warmth was beginning to sink in and I was more than exhilarated from the swim. Next, I let down my hair, rung it out quickly, shook it once a little bit and hastily braided it back up.

When I came back out from the stable I saw that some of the men were still in the water, Éomer among them. But they weren't shouting or swimming around anymore, though occasionally they would say something and all laugh. "What are they doing?" I asked Lithoer.

She laughed. "They're teasing Éomer King," she explained. "If he comes in before all his guests it will be a long harvest and a bad harvest."

"He'll die before he comes in then."

But as I spoke the men in the water struck out for the edge and Éomer was only less than a second behind them when he pulled himself out of the water.

We all ran together back to the main hall. Once back inside the fire was stoked to a roaring blaze and we all crowded around to finish off the bottle of liquor. Éomer also sent for cups of hot mulled wine and thick heavy robes, both of which I was grateful for. The Rohirrim congratulated both me and Erchirion copiously, calling us the Ice Prince and Princess of Dol Amroth and clapping us soundly on the back.

"Are all the princesses of Dol Amroth so fearless?" Lithoer asked with a coy little smile.

Erchirion laughed. "I couldn't say. Lothíriel is the only one I've ever met. But she is quite fearless, isn't she?"

"Not at all fearless. Just too scared to stay alone in the courtyard."

"As far as I can tell the thing that you fear the most Lady Lothíriel is a sincere compliment," Éomer said.

"I am proud of you, Sister." Erchirion said softly when the attention had turned away from us.

"Oh?" I was amused. "For jumping in an icy pond nearly naked on Yule with half a dozen men? I should have words with our father about the kind of guardian you are turning out to be."

He laughed. "For everything. I am glad I brought you with me to Rohan...for a number of reasons."

"I'm glad I came," I said, surprising myself with my sincerity.

The rest of the night we simply passed in conversation. There were a few more stories and songs. But mostly we just whiled away the hours until dawn amusing each other with conversation. A lot of it was about things I didn't really quite understand, particularly when they spoke Rohirric, but when I didn't understand, I was content to just listen.

And then, quite unexpectedly, as the sun rose, I found myself thinking about Saeril. She spent a lot of time skirting the perimeter of my mind, spinning her webs in the dark corners I never could bring myself to look at. It had been years however since she had come out to the forefront of my thoughts; so long I'd almost forgotten the strange, half-crushed feeling she evoked in me. Perhaps she came to me then because of the time of the year, but more likely because the previous evening Erchirion had mentioned the summer we had stayed in Minas Tirith and not gone home. He'd wondered what had happened to us during that time. Well, Saeril had happened to us – her outlook on life changing us forever.

But whatever else, the Yule we had spent with her had been magical. There had been a grand party in the Merethrond but we had slipped out early, just the three of us, to follow a young lady of our acquaintance to a distant room where she was meeting her lover. Afterward we'd walked to the edge of the Citadel and stood together in the darkest hour of the night, sharing a bottle of wine and laughing at the world. In the gray dawn she had finished her wine and then flung the glass out over the edge, laughing with the unmitigated joy of the heartless. When we had told the girl's father what she had done, revenge for the mildest slight she'd dared broach against Amrothos, she had been forced to leave the court after bursting into pitiful, sobbing tears at a gathering the next week.

Back then, with Saeril with us, we had felt so important. We had our youth, our health and our beauty and we were learning what seemed like the most important game in the world from the very best player. What could we have had to fear?  
But this Yule I was in Rohan, and when the sun began to rise we all went out onto the battlements to watch it and exchange gifts and have some hot biscuits brought from the kitchen. Erchirion gave me a very fine new cloak and some nice charcoal pencils for sketching and said he was very pleased with his own gift. From the other lords and ladies I received an assortment of pleasing trinkets: hair ribbons, sweets and even a small vial of perfume. Though we had technically exchanged gifts I gave Éomer one of the sweets and he gave me a very fine new saddle blanket, which had been his gift to all regardless of gender.

When everyone had thanked everyone else we went back up to our rooms to sleep the rest of the morning away. My last waking thought was of the sobbing girl in Minas Tirith and a warm hand grasping my arm in dark water and pulling me to the surface with an irresistible force.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, please let me know what you think! I love you so much when you leave reviews it's crazy. And eternal thanks to Lady Bluejay for beta reading this for me! XO Spake


	9. Chapter 9

Spring seemed to come in a rush. The snows melted and the grain for planting needed to be delivered. I spent perhaps every other week riding out with Erchirion to various distribution points with the grain wagons. I looked over some of my maps and made corrections. I also re-tallied the populations to see how many had died in the winter and I did some of the accounting for Erchirion, who had never had a head for numbers. It might have been grim work, but the winter was turning out to be mild and I would always recall those days as being full of joy.

Éomer was at Edoras even less than I was. With the snows melted the wild men had come back. He spent most of his time in Helmsdeep, or at least the area around the Hornburg. More attacks kept him busy there, and me from sleeping too soundly at night. It was silly how I tossed and turned in my bed, but cursing myself for a fool only made it harder to sleep and did nothing to alleviate the miserable frustration of not knowing if he had been hurt.

When he was in Edoras Erchirion took to taking me (and Lithoer would often join us) out on long rides. We would run our horses over the plains in the sun and the snow for hours. Of course, Wind Chaser was nowhere near a match for Erchirion's big charger or Lithoer's dainty little mare with a slender body but the legs made of wind. But after my horse tired I would find one of the great boulders that stuck out of the grass and snow like shoals in the sea and scramble up onto it from my horses back.

"Wind Chaser is tired," I would say when they circled back around for me. "Go for a run and we'll be here when you get back."

They never went far enough that we lost sight of each other, and I watched them as my horse panted and licked at the snow. Sometimes I would take off his saddle so the cool air could let down his lather. It was pleasure to watch my brother fall in love, but it was like a sad ballad sang by a bard I couldn't silence. I was glad for my brother, but wretchedly jealous. Watching the two of them get exactly what they wanted, exactly what they deserved, made me feel like there was a heavy weight on my chest, crushing the breath out of me. If I hadn't been what I had been all those years perhaps I would have deserved Éomer. Perhaps that would have been us running out over the snow with light in our eyes and hair. The idea hurt worse than any pain I had ever experienced.

"Lithoer is a very good woman," I said one day as we ate our evening meal after a ride.

"She is more than that," he said. "And she is quickly becoming very dear to me."

My head jerked up. It was silly. I shouldn't have expected my brother to obfuscate his feelings to the extent I was accustomed to doing. But still, such a free confession was shocking to me. "I'm glad to hear that. She has been a very good friend to me... like a sister."

He laughed, and poured himself some more wine. "You are losing your touch, Lothi. I remember you being quite subtle in days past."

"If you wish me to be coy you need only ask. Or perhaps simply insinuate."

"No, plain words from your lips are far more precious than any scheme could ever be," he said fondly. "And I am pleased that you approve of her... she is rather lower in birth that might be expected... for a match of mine."

It was true that Lithoer came from a somewhat small fiefdom near the River Limlight. And though Erchirion was the second of our father's sons, he would have his pick of any of the seats of Elphir's banner men and would live a comfortable, even luxurious existence. Any number of Gondorian ladies with much richer dowries would have been pleased to marry him for no more than the asking. Not to mention the question of blood. Ours was the blood of Númenor and, no matter how liberal the court believed it had become, there would be whispers of pollution if he married a Rohirrim.

"I am going to ask father for permission to ask for her hand during the Beltane celebrations."

The questioning look in his eyes as he waited for my answer hurt. I had no right to be offended of course. I had said disparaging things about Rohirric blood before, even in Erchirion's presence. And besides, our new found understanding was so recently wrought. Really it was to be expected that he would worry that I would disprove.

I met his eyes with as much conviction as I could. "I could be no prouder of any other new sister."

His smile broke wide. "I am glad to hear it... Your opinion means a lot to me, you know."

I put my fingers to my lips gently. I couldn't meet Erchirion's eyes so I took another sip of wine. "That is kind of you to say."

"It is the truth."

In that moment I felt the bond between us tighten like a noose around something tender and vibrant in my chest. I wanted to tell him that his opinion had changed me in ways I could barely fathom. When no one else in Gondor had seen me as more than a flippant, petty monster, his faith in me had pulled me to Rohan and made me stronger, braver and better than I would have ever imagined possible. I swore to myself that Lithoer would see only the side of the court I wanted her to. My warrior brother, hero of the Ring War, wouldn't be able to protect his lady wife from the petty humiliation marriage to him would expose her to. But I could, and I was going to.

It was the least I could do.

Two months passed and it was time for Erchirion and me to return to Gondor for Beltane, which as in Rohan, was traditionally spent with your family. The festival celebrating fertility and renewal was viewed as a particularly fortuitous time to strike marriage pacts and so unmarried sons and daughters from all across the lands would come back to the family hearth to be pushed at various potential suitors. Originally we had planned to return at Beltane for good but after several long conversations, in which neither the names Lithoer or Éomer were mentioned once, we had decided to come back to Rohan in the summer. The grain distribution wasn't finished, he said. Some of the Western Fold could be mapped, I reminded him.

"Our life here is good," Erchirion said with a small smile. "Why leave before we're ready?"

I agreed, but a large part of me was glad to go. A letter from our father had told us the family hearth would be in Minas Tirith this year, as he would be spending Beltane with Elessar. It suited me – I needed to go to Minas Tirith to catch my breath. I wasn't worried that I would break and in some way expose my feelings to Éomer – I kept that secret with the same instinct that kept my heart beating and me breathing – I was worried that I would break and take the only sure way I had of removing the temptation to be with him: make him hate me. I wanted to leave Rohan with the strange, small little scrap of honor I felt I had earned still in my possession. If he ever thought of me once we returned to Gondor for good, I wanted him to think of me the way I had been on Yule: glowing with pride at the maps and willing to jump into the freezing water with him. I didn't want him to know what I was capable of.

But I had forgotten that Éomer, having no family but Éowyn, might also spend Beltane in Gondor.

Gænwyn, when she heard that we would be spending Beltane in the same city, threw back her head and cackled so wildly I had to chuckle a little bit myself, though I didn't understand what she found so hilarious. "Why are you laughing?" I asked when she'd regained her composure.

"I'm only laughing," she said with a strange little smirk around her lips. "What? Don't you want me to laugh?"

"No, it's just I don't understand..."

"Sometimes I think all the questions you ask and those books you read only make it harder for you to see what's right in front of you," she said instead of answering. "Now come, tell me what Beltane is like in Minas Tirith."

A few days before we rode out found me in Éomer's personal study. Since no one was around to contradict me, I had lied to his servants, saying I had permission to use it. I told myself that I had done it because I wanted to use his books, but there was also a large fireplace and a very comfortable chair that smelled like junipers, horses, leather and a familiar masculine smell that was indefinably and entirely his own. The use of it held an appeal to me that had nothing to do with the quiet satisfaction of an interesting book.

Perhaps it was because of this—how close I felt to him in his study—that I wasn't aware he's come in. I was writing out an account of Rohirric sheep tending practices that I had noticed in the craggy rocks of the East Fold. I had no real plans for it but I had thought it was at least interesting enough to merit being written down.

He made it almost to the foot of my chair before I noticed him. I jerked, slamming the book shut and feeling rather like a naughty child caught with a handful of forbidden sweets. "What are you doing here?" I demanded in place of a greeting.

"I could ask the same thing. This is my study," he pointed out with an amused smile.

I ignored him. "You weren't expected back tonight."

"Clearly. I seem to have startled the manners right out of you."

I blushed. "You really shouldn't sneak up on people like that," I said as sourly as I could manage.

He laughed. "Yes. Sneaking around my own study, I can only get as good as I deserve."

"You haven't answered my question," I sniffed. "What are you doing here?"

"You haven't answered mine. What are you doing here?"

"I'm trying to write an account of the sheep herding practices of the East Fold," I said, trying to make it sound like a solid justification for breaking into his study. "I needed to borrow some of your books and you weren't around so I couldn't ask permission."

"Tomorrow is Grievance Day so we rode until late yesterday and today to return tonight so I could hear grievances all day." Grievance Day was one of Éomer's duties as king. It was a day held once a month on which anyone in the kingdom, from lord to peasant, could come and beg the King's justice for their problems. King Elessar, and even Denethor before him, had similar practices, but I had never seen one. Amrothos had assured me that it was mostly petty legal squabbles between lords and was excruciatingly boring.

"Any squabble that people confess of their own free will isn't worth the trouble of listening to," he'd scoffed.

I sighed. It figured that Éomer would take an onerous duty seriously. "Well then, I suppose I should leave you, my lord, you must be tired," I said, going to retrieve the book from where it had landed by the desk.

"My lord is it tonight?" he asked, with a cocked eyebrow.

"I suppose I should leave you Éomer, then. You must be tired."

I stepped up onto the chair and put the book back but when I had and turned to step down he was waiting for me and lifted me by the waist, setting me gently on the carpet as if I weighed no more than a child. "Have some wine with me," he said. "I am not too tired for that."

He didn't step away from me or remove his hand from my waist. I could smell sweat and horses and the masculine smell from him. It was nothing like the shadow of him left on the chair and it made my head swim like I'd already had two or three glasses of his strongest wine. I shook my head and avoided his eyes, which I knew might make my knees buckle "I don't wish to..."

"Don't make me order you, Lothíriel. I don't like reminding you but I am the King of these lands. Now be a good girl and do as I bid." The shadows at the side of his lips crinkled slightly upwards.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he had already turned from me and gone to the desk to fetch out a bottle of rich, dark red winter wine and two rough mugs. He uncorked the wine and poured generous amounts, passing me one of them. This was not at all appropriate of course. In Gondor just being alone with a man who was not my family would have been scandalous, much less sharing a mug of wine with him. But I accepted it and took a sip. It was nice, dark and appropriately strong. I took another sip. If I drank enough I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the heat in my body from the wine and the heat in my body from Éomer's nearness.

"How was your rangeing?" I asked.

"I don't want to talk about battle with you."

My brow twisted in confusion. "What do you want to talk about then?"

I stood, leaning against his great oaken desk and he stood between me and the door with his back to the fire, drinking me in with his eyes. His arms were folded across his broad chest with one holding the cup. I was only perhaps a few inches shorter than him but the cup emphasized that we were not at all of a size. The cup was so big I used two hands to drink from it, but his fitted perfectly into his hand. I swallowed another gulp of wine, feeling suddenly desperate to get out of his study. He was looking at me with that strange, almost hungry expression I'd seen before.

"Nothing in particular," he said, his voice suddenly slightly lower than it had been before. "After a long ride it's enough to simply share a glass of wine with a pretty maiden." I nodded, unable to find my tongue. I wanted to run, but whether into his arms or out the door, I couldn't decide.

For a long moment we stood with only the heat of the fire and the noise of it crackling between us. Then he said slowly, "Lothíriel... why did you come to the Mark?"

My head shot up. He didn't have to explain what he meant and I didn't try to pretend I didn't know what he was talking about. I tried to smile slightly. "I could take offense to that, my lord," I said, my voice sounding strange and strained to my ears, "am I not so pretty that..."

"You know that you are plenty pretty," he cut me off, unexpectedly sharply. "And if you call me my lord again I will take offense. Now answer my question."

I opened my mouth, which suddenly seemed to be filled with sand. "I can't explain," I said, finding it impossible to lie. I toyed with the mug, rolling it in my hands and then looked up with my brightest, most insincere smile. "As I said before... why does a lady do anything? Boredom or a lack of character but sometimes even we can't decide which it is."

He considered me for a long moment and finally took a deep breath. "Fine. Keep your secrets if you like. I suppose I can learn to accept that as price of keeping my favorite little viper around."

Having nothing to say to that I simply took another sip of wine.

After a moment he continued. "I've been looking over those reports you've been compiling. The news looks good. Bema be blessed, the winter wasn't as hard as it could have been and most people survived. If the harvest is good this year I think the Mark will be well on its way to a complete recovery in a few short years, maybe ten at the most," he let out a long breath. "I owe your family a great debt for the aid they have given me."

"Erchirion was glad to help. My father as well, I'm sure."

"And you?"

"I didn't contribute anything big. But the maps... the maps made me happy, yes."

He laughed. "You are the only girl I've ever had the pleasure of meeting who was so reluctant to take praise freely offered."

"I'm contrary and you're too free with your praise. Try insulting me some day. I am sure to protest that as well."

"You are quite... lively when insulted."

I gazed levelly at him. "As are you."

"As I am."

For a moment he gazed at me and I gazed into my wine goblet, refusing to meet his eyes. Finally I said, still looking away from him, "tell me what you will hear tomorrow as grievances."

We talked then for a while about the grievances he would hear. He kept the tone of the conversation light, telling me mostly humorous anecdotes from past cases heard by the old Kings of Rohan. But finally when the wine was finished he said, "I had best walk you back to your chambers my lady. The night grows late."

The stars were out, and the moon shining so bright that when Éomer asked if I wanted him to light a torch to guide the way, I laughed him off. There was a brisk wind, but the silence was so complete it felt almost magical: as if we had stepped into some Elven garden.

When we arrived back at my home I paused with my hand on the door. "Edoras isn't the same without you. I think the city must miss you when you are away. No one seems quite as comfortable when their King is not at his seat."

He smiled at that. "I imagine the city will miss you when you leave as well. We've all grown used to the fluttering Gondorian bird that flew into our nest."

"A bird now am I? Not a viper?"

"How is one ever to know with you?"

I grinned. "You need only decide what you think. The rest is immaterial."

"Perhaps you need only decide what you think for it to become material." He bowed. "Sleep well, my southern animal, whatever you may be."

The morning we rode out to start our journey Erchirion and I woke early and went down to the stables together. We ate a light breakfast of fresh buns and tea with Gænwyn, who had woken in time to see us off and wish us well on our travels, and walked down just as gray dawn was breaking over Edoras.

"Ready?" Erchirion asked as he swung up into the saddle.

"More than ready!" I lied.

I embraced Gænwyn, kissing her lightly on the cheek and clinging to her for longer than I normally would have allowed such an obvious display of affection to continue. She pulled back for a second, and then hugged me back to her. "Come back to us safe and sound, Lothi," she said sternly. "I won't say more because it is bad luck to be morose the day of a journey. You tempt fate to bring an accident. So... so..." I had never seen Gænwyn lost for words before. "So I will simply say again, come back to us safe and sound."

"I will see you in a few weeks."

She pressed something into my hands: a small wrapped parcel. "This is for your father. For the favor of parting with such a wonderful and intelligent daughter for so long."

I didn't tell her that it was no burden at all for my father to part with me: that the favor had been all on her part. My throat was suddenly too tight to talk.

As we rode down the hill I couldn't help but feel a strange, dark, foreboding feeling. The insane urge to tell Erchirion to turn around and take me back up to the house seized me and tradition be damned. My heart beat fast again as we reached the arch and rode out through the gates, but we made it out onto the planes without me opening my lips.

"Are you feeling well, Lothi?" Erchirion asked as our horses came close together.

"Just had a little bit too much wine last night. The headache will be gone by the midday meal."

Erchirion had wanted to take the path through the Dimholt, but I didn't want to take the Paths of the Dead, especially after my last experience in them, or take longer than necessary over our journey. So he gave in, and we set off along the Great West Road, boring perhaps, but faster. And with the constant traffic more and more way-stations had sprung up, designed to ease a weary traveler. Even so I was feeling particularly peevish by the time the White City came into view. For some reason a strange foreboding settled over me though as we rode closer. It's just the length of the journey, I told myself. But it hadn't started until we got within sight of the city.

We got into the city before nightfall, barely making it before the gates were shut.

It was so strange to see my old home. I had gotten used to the Mark with it's thatch and wood construction and blond hair everywhere. All the stone and dark hair looked strange to me, though not half a year ago it had been all I knew. The city seemed crowded. All the stone buildings with their walls almost touching each other made me uncomfortable. I had thought Edoras a dirty city when I'd arrived because the roads were packed earth and not stone, but now I found that the White City seemed squalid in its own way. The smell of the city was not of horses and leather and damp thatch but rather of rotting produce, perfume and men. My nose wrinkled at the stench of it.

Erchirion and I made our way up to the house of Dol Amroth in silence. The riders of Rohan would be quartered with the King's riders for the duration of our stay and Éomer was staying at his sister's city residence. They left us at the gate so we were alone. Strangely, as we passed through the gate of the house where I had spent almost fifteen years of my life, I felt a little pang of panic. We dismounted, and Erchirion took my hand for just a second to give it a brief reassuring squeeze.

But by the look he gave me I knew he was wondering exactly who I had become. Had Rohan all been nothing but a dream? I was back in Minas Tirith again, but had I returned to more than just the city? I tried to give him a casual smile but I found that, in spite of myself, my lips trembled slightly.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but just then the door of the house burst open and our family came out into the courtyard and he closed it, turning to greet them. "Hail, Father!" he said cheerfully, meeting his embrace.

"Hail, Father." I said in the most even tone I could manage.

As his eyes fell on me there was that same weary distaste in them that there had always been. Suddenly I felt as if my limbs were made of lead. After all I had done and said and felt in Rohan, after all the progress I thought I had made couldn't he just once look pleased to see me?

He embraced me as well, though as always, formally. "Hail, Son and Daughter," the Prince of Dol Amroth said. "Welcome back after your journey. I trust your ride wasn't too hard. Come let us go inside to hear your stories."

He and Erchirion turned to walk back to the house leaving me and Amrothos together in the yard. "Hail, Lothíriel," he said, letting his gaze roam over my dirty and worn travel clothes, the simple braid that hadn't been washed for a week, my skin tanned from riding and (did I imagine it?) even the small silver bracelet that hadn't left my wrist since Éomer had put it on at Yule. I stood as straight as I could under his inspection, trying to look haughty and unchanged by the months away.

"Hail, Amrothos," I replied.

He said nothing for a long moment. I couldn't see his eyes in the dark but I knew that even if it had been noon I would have been able to tell nothing about what he was thinking. He said finally, "Well as father says, let us return to the house to hear your stories."

It was mostly Erchirion who talked that night. The rest of the family had already taken the evening meal, but they sat with us while we were served. It was finer fare than I had eaten since I had left for Rohan —boiled new potatoes in a creamy soup and succulent roasted duck with a cherry and walnut glaze and for desert little pies with cream and berries inside—but I took less than two bites. I felt like there was a lead weight in my stomach.

Erchirion ate heartily though, and between bites he told all about our life at Edoras, the little house and the Hall, the grain and the rangeings and even my maps. He might as well have been digging my grave literally. "Lothi was incredible!" he crowed. "She rode out with the riders and made all these incredibly detailed notes and when she got back she just sat down and made the best maps Rohan had ever seen. All the riders said that Gondorian women must all devilishly smart, and Father, she was so brave and never complained about the ride or if it rained!"

My father looked at me. "Is this true, Daughter?"

"Erchirion is exaggerating. I went on a few rides," I said with a shrug.

I knew that it was hopeless to protest. Father would see the maps soon enough, as Erchirion had brought copies for King Elessar, and it was clear how much effort had gone into them. I had always known that I would have to explain my actions in Rohan. Erchirion would never keep secret what I had done. He could never understand that he wasn't doing me any favors with his words of praise.

"When she showed Éomer King the maps he said he would have knighted her except there weren't any lady knights in Rohan!" he cried out. "And she is ever so popular with the riders. They love that she never complains about the conditions even when it's so clear on her face that she's miserable..." He laughed. "Sorry, Lothi but it's true. That day after our camp almost got washed away and you had to ride all day in damp clothes I thought you were going to scream any second you looked so upset. But you never once said anything about it!"

My father was looking at me with confusion. "Is this true, Daughter?" he repeated.

I answered with the same shrug and took an orange from the fruit basket on the table and began to peel it slowly. "I was miserable, I said. "I don't remember being so stoic about it."

"I see," my father said slowly. "I should very much like to see these maps my daughter has made."

Erchirion called for his saddlebags to be fetched while I finished eating my orange, feeling like someone watching a cliff face crumble beneath them. Behind my father I could see Amrothos, who was looking into the candle flame with a completely impassive expression on his face. But though he was showing no reaction, I knew that he was listening to every word of the conversation with absolutely rapt attention. I had always known that coming back to Minas Tirith with all the stories of what I had done would be awkward, but I hadn't known it would be this bad. What had seemed completely reasonable in Rohan now seemed insane to me here. What in the name of Valar had I been thinking offering to make those maps? How had it even occurred to me to ask to ride out with Erchirion? That was simply something that wasn't done!

But soon the maps were produced and my father looked at them for a long moment in silence. When he spoke he sounded almost grim, "I had no idea that you had this skill, Daughter."

"It isn't as hard as it looks."

"She spent days on these! And that was after all the riding was done!" Erchirion protested.

Amrothos never once looked at the maps, or me. As Erchirion and my father spoke, he played with a knife from the table, passing it through the fire idly.

The rest of the meal seemed to pass in a blur. The conversation sounded like all the conversations I had been listening to for the last months—all about distribution points, road improvement and farming techniques. But my eyes were locked on Amrothos who never once returned my gaze. Only when my father declared that it was late and we must be tired and we should all retire did Amrothos look at me and smile widely. He gave me a short, tight hug.

"It is so good to see you again, Loth," he said with a little smirk. "Your life in Rohan sounds ever so adventurous! I hope you will be able to adjust to the monotony of life in Minas Tirith again."

It made me feel cold all over how sincere he sounded, though I wasn't sure why. He didn't wink at me or hint that there was anything lurking under the surface of his welcoming smile. As I slid under my sheets that night I realized with a stunned, sudden lurch of fear why. Whatever Amrothos was thinking of, I wasn't an accomplice. I was a target.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love as always to Lady Bluejay for reading this chapter and also for Grievance Day (which comes right out of her great fic Bound by Duty, one of my favorite Éomer/Lothiriel stories yet). Please let me know what you think of the new chapter! Reviews are such good karma... XO Spake


	10. Chapter 10

The next night was the Beltane feast. I woke early and went down to the gardens with Feleas to pick flowers for weaving into garlands. I thought about that night so long ago when my father had chastised me for not weaving my own welcome crown. So much had happened since.

We made some for my family and then one for Feleas' betrothed.

"I didn't know you were engaged," I said when she explained. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, my lady."

When we had finished the garlands we walked back to the house through the Spring Market, a short-term collection of vendors on one of the lower levels. They were selling everything from the first spring lilies to copper pots to tiny carved wooden ships. The stalls would be gone after the Spring Festival but for now the small square they had claimed was a riot of activity. I bought some extra silver thread to wind around my garlands, which were not as structurally sound as they would have been if made by a more practiced hand.

We had just reached the house and parted ways in the gravel courtyard (Feleas going to the kitchen and me heading back to my room) when I was accosted by another group of people. The three of them were coming down from the house. My eyes slid past my brother landing on the other male of the party, and for a moment I saw only him. Walking with her arm in his was a blond woman who was almost as tall as Éomer, strikingly pregnant and possibly even more famous. I curtseyed. "Lady Éowyn," I said with a smile. "Hail."

She curtseyed back.

"Éowyn this is Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," Éomer said, sounding pleased to make the introduction. "We feared we had missed you this morning. How fortuitous you returned when you did."

Amrothos smiled. "I hadn't thought you would return so quickly, Lothi."

Éowyn looked less pleased at the stroke of luck though she smiled slightly and nodded. "Hail, Lady Lothíriel. Well met at last. I have heard much about you."

I wondered what part of what she had heard made her smile stay fixed to her lips and travel no higher. But I laughed easily. "Truly? That is strange to hear from a woman who must be in so many tales that a bard couldn't remember them all," I said amiably.

She smiled at that, though again not entirely genuinely. Like her brother she was naturally averted to flattery.

"We were just heading down to see the archery competition and the tourney," Éomer said. "Would you like to accompany us?"

I nodded my head respectfully. "I could hardly ask for two better companions to a mock battle. Though I fear I will have nothing to contribute to the conversation, but I would be happy to learn all I can."

The change in Amrothos' demeanor would have gone unnoticed by anyone but me. His mouth twisted slightly, as did one eyebrow. "Truly? I've never known you to go to the Spring Tourney."

"Then it's past time for me to go."

Amrothos' dark eyes were unreadable. He had taken quite a bit of wine last night and looked slightly the worse for it. He had always been pale, as was fashionable, but now his skin looked sallow and stretched. His hair hadn't been combed nor his face washed, a rare thing for someone as vain as he. He had clearly been nursing a hangover when the guests had arrived. I wondered why he had bothered to come out, particularly to the Spring Tourney, which, as he had said, neither of us had ever taken an interest in. But he smiled. "I hadn't thought to go either but since you are three now I hardly suppose I can refuse and leave Lady Éowyn with no one to take her arm."

Éowyn looked as though perhaps she would have preferred to manage without his arm. But she took it and I took Éomer's. He had rolled his tunic up over his forearms in the spring sunshine (quite warm for a man from the North) and his bare skin was warm and unbelievably supple. Did my own skin feel this way, I wondered. It couldn't though, for when I touched it I felt nothing like the same warm wave of shivering sensation breaking over me.

As we walked, one set of siblings chatted about the contestants in the tourney and who they expected to win. The other set simply listened. I had never particularly cared for the lists but I had noticed that topics I had never found even remotely compelling suddenly became so when Éomer spoke about them. I resented my will being so overthrown.

The contest fields were outside the gates, near the paddocks where the horses were taken for exercise and practice. Later, after dark, the butts and stands would be cleared away for a big dance on the field. Bonfires would be lit and all the young lads and maidens would jump the flames for luck in love during the coming year. Even the nobles came down to the fields, though in general they didn't mix with the more common element. I had jumped over the flames every year since I was thirteen, but somehow I thought this year I might just skip it. Being in love had mostly put me off the whole idea.

Once outside the gate we made our way to the field and the pavilion that had been set up for the use of the nobility. My father and brothers were already seated, talking to King Elessar, so we went to greet them. My father looked at least as surprised as Amrothos to find that I had wanted to come to see the tourney but all he said was, "Hail, Daughter," as we greeted each other.

Chairs were brought and we settled ourselves by the Royal party. Éomer sat to the left of the King, a space which had been reserved for him, with Éowyn to his left and me to hers. I had gone to sit with my father on the right side of Elessar, but Éowyn, I suspect at the behest of her brother, had called me to her side. A chair was brought for Amrothos but he went to the table where wine and refreshments were being served to talk to Giril and Eithedis and pour a little poison down his throat after the bothersome stuff from last night. I hadn't seen the two sisters, friends of ours of old, since the night their teasing had driven me to exclaim that I would be going to Rohan after all. I almost went over to greet them but after searching my brain, found I had nothing to say to them.

"I am told that the Swan Knights are known for being formidable archers," Éowyn said to me, to make conversation.

"That's what I am told as well."

She jerked her head at that, to show that she was surprised that I could not truly know. I laughed. "Come, Lady Éowyn. You are good to look for common ground between us but surely you can't hope to find it on the battle field."

As I had done with her brother the morning I had met him in the stables, I had forgotten that great heroes of men are not made so by their ability to tolerate someone laughing at them. "I hadn't thought to impugn..." She began but in a tone which was anything but apologetic.

"When she was in Edoras Lothíriel became great friends with Lady Gænwyn," Éomer cut into our conversation, "who showed her the long run to the unmarked grave at the foot of the mountains. I remember that being one of your favorite rides as well."

The graceless transparency of what Éomer was doing caught us both by surprise but seemed to please Éowyn. She smiled genuinely for the first time since I had met her. When she did her mouth, which had seemed immovably stern, relaxed into a smile as mischievous as her brothers. Her cool grey eyes seemed to soften and glow and for the first time I began to think that there was some familial resemblance between them. "My brother, it seems, would like us to be friends."

"I would like us to be friends as well, Lady Éowyn."

"I am glad to hear it. If I know my brother you don't have much of a choice," she said, casting him an affectionate smile. "He has never seemed to have a problem getting women to do what he wants... myself included."

Éomer raised an eyebrow. "I seem to remember telling you that if you were a good girl and didn't weep too much for me I would bring you back a Mûmak' tusk from Pelennor. Remind me again how obedient you have always been?"

"Well, never in any of the songs or stories does it mention anything about her weeping on the way to Minas Tirith," I interjected quickly. "It seems to me that you might owe her a tusk."

Éomer roared with laughter at that. "And as you can see I do hardly better with Lothíriel. Tell me, just where are these mythical women who do as they are told?"

"Oh just over the next ridge I should imagine," Éowyn said with all the faux-sweetness she could muster.

It was strange, watching them I felt an unexpected wave of nostalgia. They were so different from Amrothos and me and yet there was something about their easy banter and teasing that was reminiscent of how we had been. For better or worse Amrothos had been my only close family (only close friend really) for years. I didn't miss what we did together, but how I felt when we did. Being on Amrothos' side had been fun and easy. What had we needed with other people, with honor, with the silly little trifles that other's worried about when we had each other and the court to play with? I turned towards the refreshments and found that he was looking back at me. I grinned at him, lost in my remembrances, but he merely stared back coolly, impassively.

"So you know Gænwyn?" Éowyn's voice jerked me back to the conversation at hand.

I nodded. "I hardly think it is possible to live in Edoras and not know her. But she and I were closer perhaps because I was a stranger and she is so curious about foreign lands. She was kind enough to introduce me to the ways of the Hall and the rest of Edoras and teach me about Rohan... whether I wanted to be shown and taught or not."

Éomer grinned. "Lothíriel lasted scant weeks before she gave up entirely and started to learn Rohirric at Gænwyn's insistence."

"You speak Rohirric?" Éowyn seemed surprised.

I shrugged, uncomfortable with the gratified look in her eyes. "I understand it quite well but I speak it like a barbarian."

"You speak it like a barbarian?" Éomer cocked a smooth, blond eyebrow. "What are you trying to imply my lady..."

He was back to making fun of Gondorian snobbery. "Oh, you know perfectly well what I meant. I can't be bothered to get my sentence right before I let it out of my mouth," I snapped. "Gænwyn and I understand each other quite well but we speak a pudding of the two languages mixed together. We know each other's weak points so we switch back and forth indiscriminately."

"Do you speak as well as Erchirion?" Éowyn asked.

"Better I should think, though we don't speak it together much," I said honestly. "He was always with the riders, who spoke passable Westron. Most of the ladies of the court spoke almost none. But come now, Lady, tell me about your baby. Have you chosen a name yet?"

In Gondor the tradition held that it was bad luck to speak of a babe unborn. Even appearing in public with a belly as round as hers, concealed as it was in a loose, billowing gown, was slightly scandalous. But the Rohirrim I had seen cooed and doted on their pregnant mothers, asking questions that would have horrified any Lady of Minas Tirith. Questions like – when the baby would be born – what would its name be – did she prefer a son or daughter. Even, between ladies – did the infant kick at night or give trouble?'

She smiled at that, running a hand over her gown. "Faramir was horrified at the mere idea of naming a child before he is safe in the world and sure not to die. I have been forbidden from choosing a name for him until a week after he is born." She laughed at the folly.

"So it is a boy?" I asked.

"I believe so." She sighed. "Though a girl would be lovely, too. I am surprised you are willing to speak of him. Most Gondorians believe it chases off the spirit of the child to talk of it."

I laughed, and glanced at Éomer as I said, "Most of the Rohirrim I have met have spirit to spare."

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed pleasantly. Éowyn warmed to me very slightly, though I still sensed an ocean of cool reserve under her friendly exterior. Éomer was strangely studious about husbanding our relationship. He praised us to each other so often during the afternoon that Éowyn accused him of being – 'the kind of flattering courtier he had always despised.' I don't think she meant to, certainly hadn't meant for me to notice, but she glanced quickly at me when she said it. The Lady of Ithilien had clearly heard some fraction or some fiction of the things I had done at court and she was too intelligent to let one afternoon of pleasant conversation change her mind about me. I liked her for that. Her brother was too open with his heart and he would need someone to guard it for him.

When the bonfires were lit I looked around for Amrothos and found he was nowhere to be found. That wasn't so surprising. The tournament was over and dark was falling. He could be at any of a dozen fires that had sprung up around the city gates and it would be difficult to tell which one in the falling dark. That he hadn't told me he was leaving didn't surprise me either. Having spoken with the King of Rohan and his sister the whole afternoon, I could hardly expect Amrothos to speak to me much. Since he knew I wasn't likely to tell him anything useful about Éomer, we really had very little to talk about.

My father, Elphir and Erchirion were still in the pavilion though, so I went to give them their flower crowns for the festivities. Being that it was my first time they were hardly excellent but Erchirion smiled when I laid his on his head. "You certainly lived up to your name today, Lothíriel," he said touching my own crown of flowers. "And you look lovely in your blooms."

Perhaps because I had had some wine; perhaps because Beltane had always been about abandon and renewal or perhaps because I really had changed I felt suddenly bold. "I wove these myself, Father," I said softly as I laid his crown on his head. "Do you like them?"

He seemed surprised by that. "Did you?" He took his off and turned it over in his hand, studying it. Having not been woven well, one flower had already come off and another was hanging by its stem. He smiled at me genuinely for the first time I could remember and pushed the flower back into its place. "It is lovely, Lothíriel. You do us all honor."

I kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

Erchirion began to take off his boots and roll up his trousers. "Come, Lothi. Let's jump over the flames before they get too high."

I looked out at the flames for a moment. Though I had done it since I was thirteen, as did most nobles, for the thrill the true meaning of the fire jumping was to signal a willingness, even an eagerness, to be married, I couldn't really say that was true of me. Before I had met Éomer the idea of being wed to some unknown, boring idiot my father dredged up and forced me on had been, if not something I looked forward to, at least palatable. Now that I knew what it was like to long for someone body and soul, I dreaded a marriage of convenience as a death sentence. I would have to force my marriage vows out between clenched teeth.

But it was tradition. "All right."

The trick of the thing was not to hesitate. Erchirion ran full out toward the leaping flames, hurtling them in a single, graceful gesture and landed well on the other side, looking pleased and elated. I managed the jump as well, but when Erchirion hoisted me up from the dirt on the other side his face twisted slightly in concern. "Lothi... what's wrong? You look so sad."

I forced my face into a smile. "Just concerned, I almost stepped in the coals on the far side."

We found our shoes and walked back to the pavilion arm in arm. In the late afternoon a small lighted clearing had been constructed between the King's seat and the tourney grounds for the spring dance. The small lanterns around the edges made it look like an elven garden, casting warm, forgiving yellow light over the denizens of the court, making them appear magical and not at all like the treacherous snakes they were.

But before the dancing begun the Maiden of Spring – generally the most simpering, sugar-sweet young noble virgin to be found – would be crowned with a wreath of golden flowers. Usually it was easy to guess who the Maiden would be: Winweld this year unless I missed my guess. The musicians were just beginning to gather on the far side of the clearing, one of the harpists tuning his instrument.

"I wonder if you'll be the Maiden this year," Erchirion said as we reached the edge of the floor.

I laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. In general popularity contest are won by people a little more..."

"Popular?" he prompted.

"Palatable," I said with a little grin.

He laughed. "Word has gotten around how palatably you behaved in Rohan. King Elessar might just be grateful enough to you for the ties you built for him to push to make you the Maiden this year..." He pulled me to his side with one arm and pressed a little kiss to my forehead. "You deserve it, Sister Mine."

"Just because you like me now, Erchirion it doesn't mean everyone else does." I said coolly, though secretly I was more than pleased that he thought I was even a possibility.

It was stupid to care about a silly little thing like being the Maiden of Spring. But as Elessar mounted the stage and made a short speech about renewal and rebirth I couldn't help the hope that slunk in, like a mongrel dog hoping to avoid a kick and perhaps for a table scrap. Being crowned the Maiden would be like an acknowledgment of my own rebirth, a public one from the King of Gondor and in front of the King of Rohan. If Éomer saw that I had changed in the mind of Elessar, in the mind of my father, would he start to think differently about me too? Would he start to think of me...?

My heart beat high in my throat as Elessar beckoned Arwen forward, with the little laurel of silver flowers that was the Maiden's mark, and finished his speech. "The Maiden of Spring is a symbol of rebirth, of spring. She is not the Queen but the Princess of everything that is new in our time. The War took a lot of from our land and our people, which makes the innocence and opportunity of spring all the more valuable. Therefore I am proud to announce that this year's Maiden of Spring is Colfindel of Southern Poros. She has been working tirelessly with the victims of the war in the lower..." His voice seemed to fade to a distant buzzing.

Erchirion must have seen something of my disappointment in my face. "I shouldn't have gotten your hopes up, Lothi..." he began.

I forced my most brilliant smile. "Don't be ridiculous, Erchirion. The Maiden is always such a colossal, boring pet of a girl I would have been ashamed of myself if I'd won."

But even as I spoke, I felt as if I'd been kicked in the stomach by Firefoot. I tried to tell myself that I'd never really had a chance, that I had been silly to let myself be so vulnerable. But that only made me feel worse. Not only had I not gained the new status I found I suddenly craved, I had lost the apathy that had been my shield from disappointment.

I began to calculate how much time I would need to spend at the dance before it would be remarked upon if I slipped away. I had been somehow putting off the knowledge that I would, over the next week, likely see Éomer fall in love with his future wife. He had put off choosing a queen long enough, and if I knew Minas Tirith like I thought I did, it wouldn't let him escape twice. It would tempt him with one of its best blossoms—some sweet, charming girl like the one mounting the steps so that Elessar could put a crown on her head. Someday Éomer might put a crown of a different sort on this girl's lovely head, or some other lovely head, and Edoras would have a new dark-haired southerner to get used to. It hurt more than I would have thought possible to imagine her going down to the stables with Gænwyn, taking tea with Lithoer or hunting blackberries with the other ladies.

The musicians struck up the first number and Éomer stepped forward to partner Colfindel for the first dance.

"I think I would like a glass of wine," I said, slipping my arm from Erchirion's. "Shall I get you one as well?"

"Please."

I went to one of the small tables where refreshments were being served and asked for two goblets of wine. "Well, you'll always be the Maiden of this year in my mind," a voice like silk cooed in my ear.

"Hello, Harra. Enjoying the evening, I hope?"

She looked well in a gown of violent, blood red with a necklace of many ropes of gold and more gold scattered in her hair. She didn't answer my question, threw in another snide remark, "If Elessar was looking for a symbol of the new spirit of Minas Tirith he certainly missed an opportunity when he skipped over you. I heard that you arrived last night in a pair of those Rohirric riding trousers the Lady Éowyn seems to think are suitable."

She peered at me coyly over the lip of her own wine glass, a small, nasty smirk twisting her thin lips and for a moment I simply looked back, wondering why I had ever cared what this woman thought of me. It wasn't a big, crashing moment of change – a heroic breaking of bonds forged. Instead it was a quiet recognition of something already come to pass. I felt as if I looked down for familiar chains only to find that they had been worn away by some subtle attrition months ago.

I smiled and turned to take the wine glasses from the server. "You know what? I think I am a rather good example of how the court is changing. I hope you enjoy the dancing, Harra."

I didn't wait to hear what she had to say but the expression on her face as I turned away was one I had never seen before. She looked as if a chair she was sitting on had suddenly gotten up and moved away.

Back at Erchirion's side I passed him his wine. "You look a little more cheerful," he said. "What is it?"

I smiled a little. "Just a very good party. I'm glad we came back to Minas Tirith."

He smiled down at me. "Me too, Lothi."

The first dance wound down and I was so busy scouting around in the throng for someone I knew who might ask me to dance that I didn't notice Éomer approaching until he was in front of me. "Will you do me the honor of this dance, Lady?" As usual with him, it was only a question grammatically speaking. I let him lead me out onto the floor, suddenly not caring a fig for who had won Maiden of Spring.

"You are going to raise quite a few eyebrows, choosing me for your first chosen partner." I warned him as we waited, five paces apart, for the music to begin. He had been practically obligated to dance first with whoever won Maiden of Spring. I was the first he had chosen to dance with.

"Oh? Who should I have chosen?" He asked.

"Almost anyone would be more suitable."

"Suitable for what? I've seen you dance and you're more than capable."

"Don't be obtuse, you know what I mean. Someone you want to get to know..."

He opened his mouth to reply but the music began, a fast, frenetic number and we had no more time to talk. We whirled in and out of the other couples, dodging and chasing each other as the pattern dictated and then finally catching each other, hand in hand in the final crescendo. When the music stopped he didn't let me go. "I want to get to know you, Lothíriel," he said so quietly that only I was sure to hear him. "Not any simple, sweet, suitable Maiden of Spring. So dance with me again."

We danced five times that night, which was four times more than either of us danced with anyone else. I felt breathless with a nervous elation unlike any I had ever known. The wine had never tasted sweeter, the light had never looked more beautiful and my cheeks burned from holding a smile so much longer than they were accustomed too.

I wanted the party to last all night, perhaps the rest of my life, but all too soon the guests began to disperse. My father had gone back hours before and Erchirion and Elphir wanted to go to a tavern for a quiet conversation. I guessed Erchirion wished to inform his elder brother of his plans to marry a lady of Rohan, perhaps seeking support for when he informed our father. And so, to almost no one's surprise, Éomer offered to walk me back to the house.

"I would like you to come riding with me tomorrow morning," he said when we reached the gate.

"I would be delighted."

"I'm glad. I have something I want to ask you."

I barely heard him. It was a moment that would have satisfied any bard. The moon was full and high in a cloudless, warm spring night and we stood together in the arch of the stone gate. I could hear my heart beating so hard against my lungs that I thought one of them would burst. Perhaps, because of the wine or because it was Beltane, brazenly I stepped forward towards him and tilted my head up. It wasn't proper but Valar I wanted him so badly it was all I could think of.

One large, warm hand slid up my arm, gripping just above the crook of my elbow and the other went to my waist. But instead of kissing me he simply looked down at me for a minute that felt like an eternity. When I felt his hand slacken slightly I knew he wouldn't. "A kiss on Beltane is good luck," I said, trying not to let it shown in my voice how desperately I wanted one from him.

He smiled. "Yes, but it doesn't mean anything, Lothíriel. When I kiss you I want it to mean something."

"When you kiss me?"

"Yes, my little viper, when I kiss you. Now go to bed or you won't be fresh for the ride in the morning."

I dashed up the stairs and to my room with my heart pounding hard from the feeling of his hands through the thin material of my dress. I was barely able to breathe, so intoxicating was the joy. I pushed open the door to my bedroom, sure I wouldn't sleep a wink.

Amrothos was sitting on the chest at the bottom of my bed where I kept books and oddments, drinking a glass of wine.

"Oh!" I started, almost jumping in surprise. "Hello, Amrothos."

"Hello, Lothi."

I could tell he was drunk. Not stumbling drunk, he was still in control, but even more dangerous for it. Wine had a strange effect on Amrothos. Most people I knew who loved spirits, loved the elated, jubilant feeling it brought them. But since he was seventeen, my brother had enjoyed nothing but a focused hatred for everything around him and that cut all the clearer when he was drunk. The only cure he had ever found for his misery was to destroy something or, more often than not, someone.

The joy began to drain out of me, inexorably even as I tried to tell myself I was being silly, there was nothing for me to be afraid of. I took off my garland, threw it on the bed and went to go and wash my face in the sink. I freshened up and went behind the privacy screen to take off my dress. Amrothos was silent. If there were any sound in the room at all, I couldn't hear it over the pounding of my heart in my ears and throat.

"Lady Winweld is with child," he said finally.

"Oh? I hadn't heard she had married." That at least explained why she hadn't been named the Maiden.

His laugh was slow and deep. There was a joy in it, but a black, heartless joy. "I never said she was married."

My head shot up. "She's going to birth a bastard?" I gaped. Winweld was an idiot and I could imagine her letting herself fall in love with a scoundrel but I had always thought her far too obedient to get into that kind of trouble. "Who is the father?"

"A hedge knight from the south. He rode in just long enough to woo her, then be caught by her father and sent away before he could hear the happy news. No one is sure where exactly he went, though you can imagine Lord Winweld is searching high and low for him."

I closed a robe over my shift and came back out into the room, though I stayed by my closet, not approaching the bed. "Do you think he'll marry her when he finds out with she is with child?" I asked, sitting at my glass and beginning to braid up my hair for the night.

Amrothos shrugged. "It depends."

"On what?"

"Well, recently, I've been toying with the idea of spreading the rumor that it's your barbarian king's doing that put the little thing into her belly." He spoke casually, as he might tell me what he was considering doing the next day after the noon meal.

I had been expecting something awful from the look on my brother's face when I had come in but that took me wholly by surprise. For a moment my vision swam and I clutched the edge of my closet desperately for support.

"The timing isn't exactly right but what's an extra month too long anyway? With any luck the little bastard will be born premature and if not...well maybe barbarian babies take a little longer in the womb."

"It... it... it won't be blond," I managed to stammer.

He shrugged. "By the time I'm done with the court Lady Winweld herself will think the little tyke has the features of a Rohirrim. I hope it's a son... a rumored heir to Rohan born out of wedlock would be quite the interesting tool to have toddling about the city, don't you think?"

I tried to keep my shoulders straight as he spoke and not to bend over and throw up. My gorge rose but I swallowed it down fiercely. "Éomer will know..." I began. "And Winweld too..."

"Oh, a denial from both the Lord and Lady?" He laughed. "As if that isn't as common as dirt. Besides, I'm not so sure Winweld would deny it. The bastard of a hedge knight is one thing, but a King's bastard is quite another. And quite a bit more useful. Besides, for all she knows the real father is dead... it might be sorely tempting to find such a convenient explanation for her little mistake presented to her."

"Winweld would never..." I began.

He shook his head. "You haven't seen her since she found out she was pregnant. Her fall from grace has hit her hard. Her father won't look at her, and she's burst into tears twice at parties. I think she'd do anything these days for a little taste of her former glory."

I swallowed hard and fought down a wave of emotion.

Accusing a noble of having a bastard was one thing, many men did by the time they married, but accusing a foreign king of impregnating the virgin daughter of a highly-ranked noble was quite another. I didn't think King Elessar would believe it, but the courtiers were idiots and they would. It would breed a lot of angry sentiments towards the Éomer and the Rohirrim, stirring up old prejudices. And Éomer couldn't afford that right now. Rohan was just getting back on its feet. It needed the trade and goodwill of Gondor and a scandal like this would be just the thing to kill that.

"What do you want, Amrothos?" I said finally with as much cool resignation as I could manage.

He laughed out loud at that. "My, how you have changed, my little flour-garlanded maiden." He affected a lighthearted jest but I could clearly hear the hard sneer beneath. "Just look at you standing there with your straight back and your stubborn little determined lip, trying to defend the innocent. And so fetching! Someone should write a ballad about you, Sister, I do declare!"

"What do you want, Amrothos?"

This time the sneer was undisguised. "You know what I want."

"You want things the way they were before I left."

"Oh, Lothi...it can't go back to the way it was before and you know that as well as I do. You were a great little assistant to me but you changed in Rohan. I have no need of someone with a soft heart in the middle of my plans."

He sighed. "And it is your heart that is the problem. Tell me...how long have you been in love with the King of Rohan?"

"I'm not..." My voice came out in a dry rasp, so ineffectual that I didn't bother to finish my sentence.

Amrothos laughed. "You are never boring, I will give you that, Sister. I never would have guessed that you would be stupid enough to fall for a spear-toting, barbarian with barely a civil tongue in his head. Tell me, can your lover read?"

I said nothing.

"And try as I might I can't imagine him bedding you. I would be careful if I were you. I said Winweld would die from the trauma of being ridden by him and you won't do much better, I imagine."

"What do you want, Amrothos?" I repeated.

"I don't want anything." His words came out like a sigh and a moan both. I would realize only much later that it was a much more honest statement than he intended, and was something I should have noticed. But in a moment he was back to the smiling, vicious Amrothos I had always know. "The question is what do you want? A herd of little blond foals? A warrior between your sheets and legs?"

I said nothing.

"I always thought you would find some boring little sop of a husband whom you could push around and intimidate, but you always did love to prove me wrong."

For a moment he considered me as I stood in my robe, perfectly unmoving and expressionless, waiting. He let his eyes move over my face and for a second I was sure I knew what he was thinking. As painful as our separation had been for me, at least I had chosen it. He had spent the last days of the war in a fishing cottage owned by one of our distant cousins, drinking, terrorizing the servants and complaining to me in long-winded letters that arrived two weeks after he had returned to Minas Tirith (he had been outraged to find no one willing to ride into a raging battle to deliver five pages on how boring country nobility was and the idiocy of the peasant class). When he had come back and found me so changed it must have been as if I had died suddenly in the night. The version of myself left behind—the one who didn't want to play his games or share his jokes – must have been hateful to him, a mockery of the companion he wanted. Despite himself Amrothos wasn't inhuman and it must have hurt when his best friend had suddenly decided that she had found the moral high-ground and he wasn't on it. Worse still, I had abandoned him for it.

"I am sorry Amrothos," I said finally, voice cracking unexpectedly with emotion. "I really am sorry that I haven't been... the same since the war. I didn't mean to... I'm sorry, Amrothos, please believe me that I'm truly sorry."

He shook his head. "Not yet."

"Tell me."

"You can't have him, that's all," my brother said quietly. "I forbid him to you. He can't look at you the way he does and you can't look at him the way you do. He can't hold you and you can't be held by him. No letters, no conversations, no jumping over the flames with him in your thoughts, nothing. Go to him tomorrow and make him hate you."

My surprise was complete. "Why?" I managed to mumble.

"Because no one gets away from Minas Tirith, Lothi," he said, voice suddenly dreadfully honest. "No one gets to just ride off to Rohan and pretend like they never did what we did. I will drive you insane before I let you do that." His eyes were like dark pools and his mouth was harder than I had ever seen it.

"But you don't even want me back," I said, nonplussed.

When I was a little girl I had once found a dog some children from the city had thrown rocks at until his head was smashed in and bleeding. My father hadn't let me near him, a dog in that position will bite any hand that approaches, and had bundled me away from it quickly. But I still remembered the look in the hound's eyes and the sound of his ragged breath. Amrothos reminded me of that dog. He wasn't breathing heavily but he gave the impression of panting and there was a tortured, near-insane look in his eyes. But then his face contorted into a hideous mask. He laughed. "Have you forgotten what I do to the things I can't have, Lothi? I burn them."

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! Thanks to Lady Bluejay for reading this first and making it so much better! XO Spake


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning I rose early. I had spent most of the night awake - lying on my back in the dark and tumbling over and over increasingly unfeasible schemes to avoid doing what I knew I had to. Towards dawn I had drifted off into a fitful unconsciousness in which I lived, over and over in nightmares, the conversation to come.

I dressed in a dark silver riding gown of cotton and silk and braided my own hair. I splashed some water on my face to take out the puffiness (I had woken in tears) though there was nothing to mask the black smudges like bruises under my eyes from the lack of sleep.

The dawn mists still lingered and the early chill made me shiver slightly as I made my way quickly down to the stables, feeling hollow and somehow distant from my own body. The doors were shut as I approached and at first I thought that they were deserted but as I got nearer I heard two voices inside.

"You can't possibly be serious! I admit that she has a good wit and some charm to her. But the things I've heard about her..."

"Éowyn, surely you're not telling me that you're taking court gossip seriously these days. You haven't been away from the Mark that long..."

"At some point it stops becoming simply hearsay. Everyone who has ever met her says the woman is an absolute monster!"

There was a low rumble of a laugh. "She isn't a monster. She is a viper perhaps. But I think she might be my viper and one I intend to keep around as long as she will agree to it."

"What? What does that even mean? Your viper, what..."

I pushed open the door to the stable as loudly as I could, startling the two of them. "Good morning, Éomer. Good morning, Éowyn. Am I late?"

Éomer shook his head. "Right on time."

"Are you coming riding with us, Lady Éowyn?"

Éowyn looked at me for a long moment. "I regret to say that I will not be accompanying you this morning. It isn't good for the health of the baby to ride this close to the end of the pregnancy."

That is just as well, I thought numbly. No one but Éomer to see the scene I was about to cause. As she left the stables she gave her brother one last meaningful look, but he only gazed coolly back. She finally sighed once before leaving the stable.

Éomer quickly saddled Wind Chaser and we rode out into the dawn. I let him set the pace and he returned the favor by choosing one that I found comfortable. We trotted out over the fields and circled the city once before coming back to the paddocks instead of the stables. I was surprised by that, having expected a much longer ride.

He dismounted, and then came to help me off my horse. He took me by the waist and through the sensation of his hands on my waist I was seized by the memory of the night when we'd danced together and he'd taken the ribbon from my hair. I should have kissed him that night. Or last night. Now I probably never would.

I was tall, almost as tall as my brothers, but when he put me on the ground he seemed to loom over me. He smiled and took my hand, kissing it gently. "You are becoming a good rider, Lothíriel," he said softly. "You have no idea how that pleases me."

"I'm sure I'll forget now that I'm back in Minas Tirith and have other things to do. You know, balls and tea and such." My voice seemed so harsh and loud compared to his, so inappropriate to the soft morning light.

"Perhaps."

He didn't let go of my hand but instead linked my arm in his and led me to the paddock. Inside a few horses were moving around but there was one that drew the eye immediately: coal black and magnificent. She moved like Queen Arwen on a dance floor, barely seeming to touch the grass as she walked across it. I couldn't wait to see her put through her paces and even more than that, I felt a poignant longing to feel her run beneath me. What would she be if she was given her head entirely? Like a dream, I imagined.

I looked at Éomer. "Who is she?" I asked.

He needed no clarification. "Her name is Nightwind."

I nodded. "Is she a Mearas?"

He shook his head. "No, those come once in a lifetime. But she has some common blood with Shadowfax a few generations back. She is swift as water over smooth rocks to ride and her manners are much better than a Mearas' would be... would you like to see her a little closer?"

"Yes," I breathed.

We ducked between the slats of the fence and went out into the field. I felt a strange interloper into the world but walking with Éomer I felt I had at least a guide. We crossed the paddock and then, with a whistle and a gesture, he called Nightwind to him. She came at a trot and put her nose into his hand, as daintily as I might give him my fingers for a kiss. He mumbled something in Rohirric, too soft and low for me to understand, caressing her shoulder with a hand.

He looked at me. "You can introduce yourself if you want."

I offered her my fingers, as I knew was polite, and then joined him as he stroked her shoulder. Her coat was soft as my finest silk but warm, and under it strong muscles rippled. It was hypnotic: the feel of the hot sun and the warm coat and the soft, soothing sounds Éomer made as he too caressed the horse.

We stood together for how long I don't know but by the time we walked back to the fence and ducked through it the sun was fully up and the birds were singing in the trees. When we passed under the fence and moved back into the world of humans a change came over both of us, and I remembered what I had come to do for the first time since we had begun riding.

"Éomer..." I began as soon as we were alone in the stables.

But he seemed to have remembered his purpose too. "She reminded me of the graceful way you move when you forget to be conscious of yourself."

He turned towards me and found my hands with his. He took them both in his large ones and brought them to his lips. He had kissed the back of my hand many times before but now it was the tips he brought to his lips instead. He kissed them gently and his beard, which was just long enough to be soft but not so long so as to be wiry, brushed against the sensitive skin of my palms. The morning sunlight caught his brilliant blond hair making it look as gold as the roof of Meduseld. His blue eyes were practically translucent and there was something in them that was unexpectedly tender.

I could barely breathe but I managed to gasp. "Oh?"

"Lothíriel I want to give Nightwind to you."

I could barely get the words out, "I thought you said in the Mark a gift of a horse meant marriage."

He smiled indulgently and kissed my finger tips again. "It does. I want you to be my wife, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."

For a long second I simply looked at him, seeing clearly what it would mean to be his wife. I could kiss him whenever I wanted and I could tell him I loved him. No one would be able to tell me I couldn't care for him when he was sick or wounded. It would be my right to greet him after a long journey, take off his armor and then let him crawl into my warm bed, cold and hungry and wanting me. He would show me what it felt like to be devoured by that voracious longing I sometimes saw in his eyes when he looked at me. And I could give him children, soft little blond babes perhaps with their father's eyes and goodness.

And the rage I felt for those lost things was bottomless: more than enough for what I had to do. I knew that what I said next had to be convincing. Éomer wasn't the kind of man to let something be taken from him. If he suspected that I was lying to him, that I wanted him at least as badly as he wanted me, he would never let me go. But his best idea of how to handle Amrothos would be a duel, which would accomplish nothing. Waving a sword at Amrothos did about as much good as waving it at smoke.

I wrenched my hands from his. "Oh, Éomer, you must be joking."

He let my fingers go and his brow crinkled. "I assure you, Lothíriel I am not." His voice was soft but there was something like a sharp steel edge in it.

I laughed mockingly. "I don't think I would make a very good Queen of the Mark."

"Why not?"

Later, what would cause me the most shame and pain was how easily the lies came. I didn't have to think about how to hurt Éomer. Like his physical armor he had built up protection around himself of honor and pride. But I found the weak spots in it as instinctively as any master swordsman. I sighed. "I do admit that Rohan has some limited appeal but I don't think I could ever make it my home. A few months is fine, but I think it's obvious I could never live somewhere so...rustic long-term."

For the first time something cold slipped into Éomer's voice. "That is not the impression you gave."

"What exactly was the impression I gave?" I asked, raising my voice and injecting a haughty, pedantic note into it. I wanted him angry. When his temper mastered him it would be easy to have unforgivable things said between us.

"Bema woman!" He wasn't shouting but there was something of a bark in his voice now. "The way you took to the Mark was incredible. The way you would chatter on to Gænwyn in your cobbled together little made-up language, or ride out with your brother to map with my Riders, or jump into the stream on Yule... and the way you looked at me. And last night you asked me to kiss you."

I had been waiting for him to say that and I was ruthless as I lunged in for the kill. I spread my hands. "I am not sure what you mean exactly...I enjoyed myself of course but that is my business: to please myself wherever I go, whatever the cost. I don't deny that I like you, my lord but there could never be anything between us romantically. I would never..."

"Don't tell me I made it all up!" He cut me off.

"I am sorry if you mistook my friendship, my lord."

"I didn't mistake anything!"

He seized my wrist and dragged me back towards him. One strong arm went around my back and he pulled me flush against his chest. His lips were so close my whole world seemed to narrow suddenly to just him. My breath came out in a little ragged gasps and for a second I forgot about everything. I wanted him to kiss me, which I knew would obliterate everything in my world just for a second. But he hesitated. Once he leaned forward quickly to capture my lips but drew back just as quickly with a growl of frustration.

In his moment of hesitation I had time to think. I knew that if he kissed me all would be lost. I would never be able to hide my feelings once our lips touched. In desperation I whispered, "I won't be your Queen, my lord, but perhaps if you had a more casual arrangement in mind I could be more accommodating..."

It took him a slow moment to understand what I'd said. Once he did, he reacted as he might if I had spat full in his face. He jerked back from me and for the first time I saw real rage on his face. If I had thought him angry with me before in the stables of Aldburg, I had been wrong. He turned from me for a long moment and I could see him struggling to keep his rage in check. When he finally spoke his voice was a deadly whisper, "You would have me dishonor the daughter of one of my greatest friends?"

I said nothing.

His face was a mask of rage. "How can you be the same woman who I knew in Edoras?"

Carefully I straightened the fall of my dress. "I told you who I was all along my lord: a lady of the court of Minas Tirith." It was you who chose not to listen. Most people are not half as honest as I have been with you."

"I think, my lady, that you are no judge of honesty," he said icily.

I sighed, flouncing my skirts. "I am going home, my lord. You saw what you wanted to see in me I suppose. I am sorry for any discomfort it has caused you but I am unwilling to stand around while you cause a scene."

The black look of barely contained rage on Éomer's face didn't frighten me. Anger had always been the emotion that Éomer knew best and he would be able to deal with that old friend. It was the shadow of something that lay behind his anger that I would see for months after in the second just before I fell asleep: pain and confusion. He was a warrior by nature and never one for introspection. He would take what I had said at face value and it would be like a festering wound he wouldn't know how to heal.

As I turned to leave I heard him begin to take the saddle off Firefoot, working the cinch of the belt a little too roughly and making the horse whicker in protest.

I walked back up to the house in a daze, went to my room and shut the door. After I had left Éomer a sudden buzzing had started in my ears and when the door slammed shut behind me it increased until I could hear nothing else. I went and lay in my bed, curled my knees to my chest with my hands over my ears, only too pleased to let the noise drown out my thoughts.

Éomer left a few days later when the Beltane celebrations were over. I didn't have to say goodbye to him because the maids thought I was sick. I had lain in bed for a full day after that morning at the stables and refused any food. Convincing them that I couldn't go downstairs to greet a guest had been easy work.

Erchirion, however, wasn't so easily fooled. I had told him the day before he would be going back to Rohan alone, though I hadn't told him why. "I don't know when you are going to be able to see him again. Are you sure you don't want me to help you down the stairs?" he asked.

"No, I am sure we will see each other some time or another."

Erchirion gave me a strange look. "But Lothi..."

"I said no, Erchirion!"

He had opened his mouth as if to say something, but finally had simply given me a probing look that I had returned with the blank, distant hatred I felt for everything. He'd come to the bed and put his hand on my leg through the covers. "Lothi..." he said slowly. "What happened?"

"Nothing," I'd snapped, turning away from him.

"Don't say nothing," he'd said gently. "Something happened between you and Éomer."

There was no use pretending. Erchirion was too smart and had seen too much of my relationship with Éomer to be fooled by anything less than half the truth. "We had a fight." I said at last.

"About what?"

"I told him something he didn't want to hear and he was angry about it."

"What did you tell him?" Erchirion pressed.

"I told him the truth," I said without emotion. "That I wouldn't marry him."

Erchirion let out a long sigh. "He asked you to marry him?"

I nodded.

"And you said no?"

My voice was a howl of unfeigned pain. "Of course I said no! Do you think I would want to live in that backward, uncivilized place? I have a life here! I have friends and things to do here! I could never live in Rohan!"

Erchirion looked down at me with a strange pity in his eyes that felt as if it burned when it fell on me. "You are such a fool, Lothíriel, if you think that," he said finally after a long silence. "And I always thought you were so clever."

"If you are going to insult me you can get out of my chambers."

He had gotten slowly up and kissed my brow, though I tried to writhe away from him. "I hope you feel better," he said softly. "And I hope when you realize the mistake you've made it isn't too late."

"It's already too late," I said hollowly when the door had shut behind him.

When he was gone I went to my travel satchel and opened Gænwyn's gift to my father. It was a beautifully embroidered tapestry of a young woman with dark hair sitting astride a horse. I threw it into the back of my closet, barely able to fight off a howl of pain.

The next month in Minas Tirith I felt more alone than I had when I first arrived in Edoras. Though I was always talking, changing my clothes or being pulled from one ball, sewing circle or party to another, I felt as it all took place behind a window of dark screen that had fallen over all the world. Out of an instinct, as natural to me as hunger, I showed no outward signs of my inner turmoil publicly. My frustration at my helplessness, my compliance in my own unhappiness, made me feel as though I wanted to thrash and thrash until I somehow was able to get away from myself and the body that had said and done such unforgivable things.

Sometimes I woke in the night with my fingers pressed to my lips, stiffing a scream.

I am ashamed to admit that a small part of me longed to go back to my old role in the court. The petty vicious victories I'd won in the past had relieved my misery then and I knew that lashing out would bring me some relief even now. In the crucial moments of court games my blood would be pumping hard enough to drive from my head any thoughts of right or wrong or Éomer. It would also of course cause me more agony in the long run. My awakened conscience, already tortured, would have new barbs to be stuck with if I went back to my old ways and I would like to think that this knowledge alone was enough to keep me from indulging in the only relief I knew of. But what kept me from it even more surely than the thought of increasing my own pain or others was the fact that if I went back Amrothos' victory would be utterly complete. And in those dark days spite was a better shield than any other I had.

Later, when I told Gænwyn the story of those weeks in Minas Tirith, I admitted that I was never really sure that it hadn't simply been sheer spitefulness that had kept me from turning back to my old habits. She had laughed uproariously at that.

"Oh I can't say I'm surprised! That sounds about like you Lothíriel," she'd exclaimed. When she'd seen my slightly hurt look, hidden though I had tried to make it, she'd smiled gently and continued. "No doubt about it child you have something dark inside you that's seen the light of day but these days you're the master of it and not the other way around. Most people never learn that. They either keep those things locked up tight as they can inside them or they let them run loose. It's a rare person indeed who lets their darkness out and then breaks it like a spring colt. And spite, my darling, like any other emotion, is just a means to an end. It can keep you safe, just like love can do you harm. And whatever kept you as you in those days isn't something you have to be ashamed of, not with me anyway."

But until that conversation I had always felt that I had cheated somehow.

For the week he remained in the city Erchirion made an effort to be pleasant to me but the friendship we had enjoyed in Edoras had been broken. He acted as if nothing had happened and continued including me in plans and trying to draw me out but I couldn't stand it. We had gotten to know each other in Rohan and all we had in common was there. When we talked the conversation always circled back to grain and rangeings and Edoras. I began avoiding him. I'd always known better than to pick at a wound.

He told our father of his intention to marry Lithoer and received his blessing. Despite the fact that her lands and dowry were comparatively small our father was pleased with his son's choice. If she was intelligent, gentle and loving he said that he would want no other mother for his grandchildren. My own congratulations were honest if somewhat less enthusiastic than what was merited. As much as I loved my brother, as well as I understood that both of us were only getting what we deserved, the envy in me burned in my chest like scalding liquid swallowed too quickly.

When Erchirion left for Rohan I was relieved.

Amrothos didn't speak to me almost at all. I would have expected him to gloat, to take some sort of pleasure in the events he had orchestrated but, though he was careful to maintain the illusion that we were still intimate, when we were alone he acted as if I wasn't there. He escorted me to parties where he talked and joked with me perfunctorily; at dinner he made sure to treat me as he always had but when we were alone he barely looked at me.

My father asked twice if I was feeling alright but when I told him that I was he didn't press the matter any further seeing that I had fallen back into my old habits. Like Erchirion, the brief intimacy I had built up with my father had been broken on the decision that I had made. But unlike my brother, my father made less of an effort to mend the tear between us. With me and Amrothos both he'd never known quite how to talk to us, particularly after what we'd become. For a man for whom honor was so precious the shame of what his children were was unbearable to him: something so hideous that he didn't want to hear the details or be reminded of it.

Life went on like a waking dream. I went forward almost staggering with the shock of what had happened until the day I saw Lady Éowyn for the first time since Beltane.

It was the first truly hot day of spring and the nobles of the court had all gathered on the lawn of some minor noble to celebrate the engagement of his daughter. Amrothos and I sat with Giril and Eithedis on a blanket under the shade of an enormous tree, drinking and complaining about the spread of food which Giril said was "no more than could be expected from people with such pitiful lands" and of which Eithedis was less forgiving.

I leaned my back against the tree and tried to let my mind go blank. I could see the sky, bright and blue and infinite, through the canopy of the tree. I could feel the earth beneath me and for a moment there was a small amount of peace. I hadn't been out in nature much since my return to Minas Tirith. Wind Chaser, who had only really been loaned to me by Gænwyn, had gone back with Erchirion to Edoras, so I had no horse to ride. And besides, I had no one to ride with: it being considered a pastime only really suitable for ladies in Gondor when strictly necessary. I dug my fingers into the earth and tried to listen to the whisper of the wind instead of the chatter of my companions.

"...the little slut had a dress made that was based on that blue gown I wore to the Yule ball..."

"...whatever he says I know he's sleeping with at least one of his kitchen maids..."

"...she's looking every day more and more rotund and it's not because she's pregnant, her husband is probably impotent and certainly a pederast..."

"I think I'll go get some more wine." I announced abruptly to no one in particular. "Would anyone else like another glass?"

We had seated ourselves at the end of the lawn so I had to walk through the length of it to get to the house, where the refreshments were being served. Small tables, groups of reclining chairs and blankets had been scattered across the grass with groups of men and women in brightly colored fabrics grouped around them. There were also some men and women playing party games. As I walked by one group a young lady made a particularly difficult toss of a small wooden ring onto a stake and squealed with delight as her teammates gleefully congratulated her.

"Cousin! Cousin, Lothíriel!" A voice in the crowd made me turn. My cousin Faramir was standing by a low table with a group of men and women. "Come and keep us company for a moment, Lothíriel. From the eager look on his face he hadn't been told anything of his wife's dislike of me or of my history with her brother. My heart pounded as I crossed the lawn towards them.

I swept the Lady of Ithilien my best curtsey. "It's good to see you again, Lady Éowyn. We haven't met since the Beltane festival."

"No, we haven't," she said, voice tight.

"But of course you know that Lothíriel recently spent six months in Edoras with her brother Erchirion. Tell us how you found it, Cousin." Faramir seemed to notice his wife's chilly demeanor. A note of confusion entered his voice.

"I enjoyed my time in the Mark very much."

Faramir and I talked for a few more minutes about Rohan. He had been to her homeland once before and we compared our impressions of it. But finally the stilted tension emanating from his wife seemed to overwhelm our conversation and he stopped asking me questions. "I have been sent to bring my party more wine. I had better hurry before they dry out in this heat." I said in the uncomfortable silence.

I retreated quickly towards the house. The inside was cool and blessedly absent of people: the principle food had been put on the tables hours ago and there were servants circulating with trays of dessert outside. I leant against the cool wall of the entrance hall and let my head fall back. I tried to relax, to swallow down the lump in my throat and to still my wildly beating heart. The tears I blinked back only with some effort.

Steps on the stairs outside let me know that someone was coming up the stairs. Quickly I stood up, composing myself, but stopped, fingers still smoothing my skirts when I saw who it was. I opened my mouth to say something but the words didn't come.

Lady Éowyn ran an icy gaze up and down me and her face contorted with fury. "Did my brother give you that?" She pointed to the bracelet on my wrist.

Instinctively my fingers went protectively to the familiar silver band of horses circling my wrist. I hadn't been able to make myself stop wearing it. I said nothing.

"You wear it as a trophy I assume? A reminder of another man you've humiliated."

Still I said nothing.

"I suppose I should thank you for saying no. My brother deserves better than a woman like you."

"We agree on that point, Lady Éowyn."

She clenched her jaw. "He fought in the battle for this city. Your home would be destroyed without him; your lands would be in the control of Sauron if my people hadn't come to your aid."

At that a little choking gasp of a laugh escaped from my constricted throat. As if duty or debt had anything to do with what I felt for Éomer. Perhaps if I hadn't known what it was to love, those reasons would have been enough for me to say yes... but how could those things compare to the man himself? I wanted to marry his mischievous smile, his grace on the back of a horse, the feeling of his hands on my waist as we danced, the way he worked so tirelessly for his people, his stubbornness and fierceness.

"You laugh at our sacrifice?" Her knuckles clenched at her sides. "You dare to laugh at a man without whom the war could never have been won? I..."

"Ah, there you are Lothíriel!" I hadn't heard Amrothos' steps on the stairs but he appeared suddenly at the end of the hall. "We were worried you had fallen into some sort of trap, ambushed by bandits or gotten lost! What could take so long about getting another bottle of wine? Hello, Lady Éowyn you are looking well as usual."

He took my arm firmly as he passed, nearly dragging me farther down the hall. "Excuse us please but we must hurry before our party becomes too sober: an intolerable fate at a party as dull as this."

But instead of going into the small dining room where the food was being served he took me to a small library that was just down the hall. A young man and woman sprang apart from an embrace at the sound of the door opening. "Get out," Amrothos ordered them flatly.

The man knocked into my arm in his haste to flee.

My brother led me to the center of the room and then finally let me go. He glared at me for a long moment, face twisted with a hatred I had never seen there before. "Come back to the party when you can manage to look like yourself," he said. "I don't want to see that pathetic, vulnerable look on your face ever again."

He slammed the door when he left the room.

For a moment I didn't move. I stood stock still in the center of the room, staring forward and seeing nothing, a small, strange spark of intuition kindling in my mind. The expression on Amrothos' face hadn't been exactly as it should have been. Disdain or glee would have been understandable. But he had looked as I might have when I had refused Éomer: agonized, not by his normal loathing for the external world, but by some edge of his rage that had turned against himself. He had looked almost remorseful.

And why had he come to rescue me from Éowyn? My brother was nothing if he wasn't meticulous. It wasn't in his nature to decide on one course of action—tearing me from Éomer –and then work against himself by saving me from the repercussions of it.

I went to the table and sat cradling my head in my hands with the heels of my palms pressed against my eyes. I let my mind wander back over everything that had happened since I had come back to Minas Tirith. What had I overlooked? What had I seen that I hadn't understood? The spark grew slowly but surely in my mind, throwing light on all that had passed since that morning in the stables and finally illuminating in my mind's eye a desperate plan.

I stood from the table and left the party at a swift walk. I needed to ask Lady Harra for help and my father for a favor.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is your chapterly reminder to leave a review please and also to thank Lady Bluejay for reading this story through for me! She's a saint! XO Spake


	12. Chapter 12

"I need you to loan me as many Swan-knights as you can spare for the next few months." I spoke the moment the door of my father's study closed behind me, the words tumbling out in a confused jumble.

I had come straight from the party, and still sweated slightly from my brisk walk in the heat. My gown clung to my body, my armpits were decidedly damp and I felt as if there was a thin film of grit over the exposed surfaces of my arms, neck and face. I tapped the parcel I'd brought with me against my leg nervously, feeling uncomfortable that the Prince of Dol Amroth should see me so dirty and vulnerable. My father, stunned into silence by my outburst, sat imposingly at his enormous desk which was made of almost black wood and as long as a man and nearly as wide. Finally, after a momentary, gaping pause he managed, "Lothíriel? I thought you would be out on a fine afternoon like this. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I need some riders to send south with a message. As many as you can spare. Five at least please."

"What? Why?"

"I need to find the father of Lady Windweld's bastard."

At the word bastard, disapproval began to cluster on his brow. He frowned and considered his next words for several minutes. Finally, he said, very carefully, "You and I have always allowed each other not to speak plainly about the way in which our relationship has changed since you came to Minas Tirith. Many times I've wished to, but you have not become a woman who invites or respects blunt communication. I do not blame you for this of course, for it was cowardly not to say what was on my mind. But for me the subject has always been too painful to insist upon."

He paused, waiting for me to reply.

I lifted my chin. I had expected something like this but the words struck more painfully than I could have imagined. The sweat from the walk suddenly became clammy and cold instead of warm. "I think that a fair assessment. And, I suppose a signal that now you wish to have this plain conversation?"

He moved some papers around on his desk, as if thus arranging his thoughts before speaking again. "I am not unaware of the kind of... mischief you and your brother create in the court."

"I haven't..." I began quietly but he continued over me.

"I had hoped, however, that when you went to Edoras you had left all that behind you. Erchirion seemed sure that you had, and he spoke more warmly than you know about you, insisting that I had no right to look down on the kind of woman you'd become. But if you are planning to torment that unfortunate young woman in any way, for any reason..."

"I'm not..." I began again.

"I really began to hope when you came back. You seemed so different and those maps that you drew and the stories Erchirion told... But I suppose that change is a slow process and returning to the court must have presented countless temptations. Still..."

"I don't want to torment her!" I exploded. The sharp look of disapproval might have silenced me on any other day but now I found the words poured out of me without thought or volition on my part. "I want to help her!"

He pressed his lips together. "Really, Lothíriel..." he began.

"Why can't you believe me? A father should love his daughter enough to overlook a few faults!"

"A few faults!" Now it was his turn to shout. "Is that what you would call your complete lack of honor or generosity? Perhaps it's hard of me but I will not lie to myself about who my children are, Lothíriel! Particularly at the expense of some poor, honor-forsaken girl!"

"Oh? I see you've discovered that the court of Minas Tirith is a somewhat hostile environment for the vulnerable and located the corresponding paternal instincts! Who let you in on that so closely guarded secret? And how absolutely lovely for Winweld. I only wish I had enjoyed that same concern when I was a child!"

"Lothíriel I will not be spoken to in this manner!" he roared.

It was enough to make me start crying – a visceral response to his face contorted in rage left over from childhood – but not enough to make me stop talking. "So then by saying that you wished to speak plainly I can only assume that you meant you wanted to chastise me about all my bad habits while I sat in silence? But when will we ever talk about your wrongs, Father? When will I ever be allowed to ask why I was sent away as a child? If you... if you... if you don't like the woman I've become maybe you should have spent a little more time shaping me into someone a little more noble!"

I slammed my fist down on his desk, which seemed to break the back of the argument. To my total surprise my father's complexion paled and he drew his long, slim fingers up to his lips, pressing them together and looking almost ill. He swallowed hard and looked at me for a long moment silently. Erchirion would tell me later that he'd seen our father cry twice – once at my mother's funeral and again when the war ended – but at that moment in his study he was as close to tears as I would ever see him.

Finally he said, very quietly, "I know."

If I'd slammed my foot down on solid stone and felt it crack and shift beneath me I would not have been more terrified than I was by the look on his face. I swallowed deeply in my throat. "Forgive me, Father. I didn't mean..." I began to apologize, but he silenced me with a raised finger.

"What you said is fair. You deserve an explanation I suppose, but the truth is that there isn't one. Not just one anyway. I've thought about it for years of course, why I sent the two of you away, I mean. There was some trouble on our borders and there was almost no female companionship for you in Dol Amroth. And I had no idea how to raise a girl... particularly not one so stubborn and fierce as you were becoming. I was scared I suppose."  
"Father really... I didn't mean to be unkind."

He smiled. "I believe you." He continued with his explanation uninterrupted by me. "And you were beginning to look so like your mother." He laughed a little wan chuckle. "Not that I would have wished you to look like me, not for anything! But it was difficult for me to have you around. I loved your mother very deeply and you were such a sharp reminder... As for the court, I assumed Amrothos would protect you. He was such a solemn, wise, studious child. But I guess it was a different kind of wisdom you need to grow up here..."

He came around the desk and sat on it, leaning down and cupping my face gently with one hand. "I never meant to harm you. Please, Lothíriel, you must know that. But I made a mistake and I ask your forgiveness for it."

I had to swallow back the heart-pounding fear and some other emotion that was breaking open in me like nausea and elation mixed in equal parts. "Of course, Father, of course. It's silly to ask. Of course... of course."

He smiled and kissed my forehead gently. "I am glad. Perhaps now we can begin to make amends to each other. Starting with these knights of yours... Why do you need them exactly?"

"I've been unkind to Windweld in the past. I wish to find the father of her child to repay a debt." It wasn't strictly a lie. I had been unkind to her in the past and I couldn't explain the whole of my plans to my father. "I think I have an idea of how to do that. Something that hasn't been tried yet."

He took my hands in his. "And you will be responsible? You give me your word?"

I nodded. "I promise, Father."

"Then they are yours."

I would have leapt from my chair if I hadn't felt so weak with emotion. I satisfied myself by kissing both his hands and beaming my thanks up at him. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

I was so overwhelmed with emotion—not quite joy but something as excruciatingly cathartic—that I almost left without showing him the parcel I'd fetched from my room. But as I stood to leave he saw it. "What is that you have in your hand?"

I blushed, but dutifully lifted it onto his desk and unrolled it. It was the tapestry Gænwyn had given me to give to him. I struggled for an explanation but found none forthcoming.

He looked at the tapestry for a long moment, saying nothing. "Who gave this to you?"

"Her name is Gænwyn. She is a great friend of mine in Edoras. She said to thank you for sending such an intelligent and kind daughter to help the people of the Mark in a time of need."

He traced the curve of the face on the tapestry. "This is you, isn't it?"

"Not yet. Maybe someday."

I have heard the feeling of relief described as being like "a weight lifted off one's shoulders" but the reprieve I found leaving my father's study was of a different kind. I didn't know if my plan would work and even if it did there was no reason that Éomer, Erchirion or anyone else should forgive me. The truth explained what I had said but the lie had just as well. Proof would be impossible without a confession from Amrothos, something I felt unlikely to be forthcoming given what I was planning to do next. And it was plausible that, given time to consider Éomer's offer to be Queen of Rohan, I had found some motivation to accept him. A crown was a crown after all. Doubt hung over me like a dark cloud.

And yet I felt good. It was as though a long fever had finally broken and I'd woken sweating and weak, the memory of a nightmare still lingering in my mind, but with the luxuriant feeling of excruciating pain vanished. The conversation with Amrothos the night of Beltane seemed now like an ill spell cast upon me but now broken. The dim glow of hope drew my agency back to me slowly.

I didn't visit Harra right away. The next step of my plan was the one I was least sure of and once the move was made there would be no going back. Before I made any bargains with a spider I needed to be sure that I had something that she couldn't resist. And to procure that particular thing would require crossing more than a handful of lines that, at another point in my life, would have appeared un-crossable.

At the back of the garden adjoined to our house in Minas Tirith was a high stone wall that enclosed my father's estate. Along the top of the wall broken glass had been worked into the mortar to deter thieves, except at one place. One sunny afternoon when he was sixteen years old Amrothos had chipped the glass off the mortar with his dagger. No one had ever noticed the bald spot in the wall because a small oak tree bent over it, one branch providing an almost perfect foothold to hoist a stealthy traveler over.

For how long I stood on the garden path looking out at the tree that hid the secret egress I cannot say. I hadn't brought a lantern but the full moon was so bright over the scene that it wasn't necessary. I'd never gone over the wall without Amrothos to accompany me before. Walking through the unlit streets of the lower city without an escort simply wasn't done by a lady of my birth. But who was there I could ask to escort me? I had done everything I possibly could—including climbing out my bedroom window and shimmying down a decorative trellis like a common serving wench – to keep Amrothos from finding out my intentions. Erchirion was back in Rohan and Elphir would probably lock me in my room if he knew where I was planning to go.

I am ashamed to say that I was scared to leave the safe haven of my father's high walls. I'd always thought of myself as unconcerned with conventions, if not outright daring, but climbing over that wall meant that I would leave behind the privilege afforded by my birth, the protection of my class. On the verge of actually, factually, physically and irreversibility doing it, I found myself scared. Little Lothi, brave enough for anything as long as she doesn't have to leave the library, I taunted myself.

I will never know where the unexpected courage to set out on that path came from. My body felt heavy with dread but somehow I managed to force it to take that crucial first step. And the next one, after that was somehow easier.

Without Amrothos there to give me a step up with his cupped hands, going over the wall was harder than I remembered. I had no idea how I would manage to pull myself back over by the method of irregular stones we had managed to slightly work out of the wall to make ourselves a method of climbing back, without him giving me a boost. But the walk through the city wasn't as bad as I had expected. It was well past midnight and the men and women of the lower city were well into their cups. Everyone I knew would likely be as well, but they were several thousand feet above me in the gardens of a southern prince whose son had just taken a bride. Light and drunken noise spilled out of every tavern and my heart beat frantically as I hurried past, cloak wrapped well around me and collar turned up as high as I could. A young princess of one of the richest realms in the land would have caused a stir, but I passed unnoticed. With my hair loose like a commoner no one would ever mistake me for the only daughter of the Prince of Dol Amroth.

In fact, the only person who looked twice at me was the girl who greeted me at the door of my destination. She was nervous, obviously not used to women coming here.

"I've come to see Marie."

She let me in and hurried me into a small room at the back of the building. Until she was sure of whom and what I was, there was no reason to let the customers see hide or hair of me.

Marie was a lithe woman in her forties, still with some of the fading lines of the great beauty of her youth, gone a soft with fat and wrinkles. She was dressed in a simple black dress of silk, cut very provocatively, and she showed me into her small sitting room with a small smile. She quickly appraised me with an obvious professional eye. "Well, you certainly are pretty enough..." she began. "A thin little slip of a thing, but with a good completion and noble features. I allow you will do more than tolerably well with the upper city set. I imagine that they'll pay any amount of money to debase a girl who looks so like one of their sisters or cousins..."

"I'm not here to ask for a job."

She smirked. "Of course you aren't. Maybe none of the drunk peasants you crossed on your way down from the spire noticed the quality of your clothes or carriage but I know the difference between a girl who is here to offer to do me a job and one who has come to ask me to do her one."

"So you intend only to insult me?"

"If you consider that an insult, I suppose I do. I put up with prim, mincing little heiresses for the first twenty-five years of my life and then I found that my patience had run out."

"I can relate to that." I didn't often take to people on such short notice but I liked Marie already.

"Oh?"

"A story for another night."

"I suppose I should offer you some refreshment. A cup of tea or a few biscuits? That is the habit of your class, isn't it?"

"I will have whatever you are having."

"I'm having spirits in water. A very little water."

I knew a test when I saw one. "Oh... forget the water then."

She threw her head back and laughed at that. But she went and fetched us glasses with a pungent, dark amber liquid almost to the brim. I tossed off a third of it without remark, fighting the almost irrepressible urge to shudder violently. For a long moment Marie considered me, sipping her own drink occasionally. For my own part I considered the room, allowing her to form whatever judgment she was drawing about me fully.

The room was opulent but done in darker colors than would ever be chosen for a living space. The couches we sat on were a dark burgundy and the carpet was a rich purple. Even though there were abundant candles the space had the sense of an unlit cave.

"So, who are you then?" she asked finally.

I didn't hesitate. "Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. I'm Amrothos of Dol Amroth's sister."

She clearly hadn't been expecting that answer. Her eyebrows shot up dangerously close to her high hairline. "You look like him I suppose. I should have known."

I said nothing. I let her mull over my identity for a moment.

Finally she said, "But what could you possibly want?"

"I want to tell you a story."

"I'm delighted. There is nothing I love as much as a good story."

Though I hadn't thought even briefly of what I might say the words tumbled out as if rehearsed. "When I was twelve years old my brother, my only friend in Minas Tirith, fell in love with a woman who was completely unsuited for him: married, older and wicked as could be believed. As a child, if I had seen her for what she was, I don't think I would have understood how he could love her as completely as he did. Now I think I understand the... consuming nature of love a little better. If we are lucky our lovers are merciful and the things they take from us they replace with things more priceless than anything that could be born of our own souls."

My audience smiled wanly. "But more often than not they simply rip away the handfuls of flesh they think sweetest to devour." Long, thick fingers played lightly over her own lips as if thinking of some feast she had enjoyed long ago.

"Perhaps. It was certainly the case in this particular attachment. Though my brother paid it willingly, the cost of her attention was high. To entertain her he became as cruel as she was, perhaps knowing that the only thing that could interest her for long was a mirror. But even then it ended, as it had to of course."

"Of course," she intoned.

"But for a summer it worked. He loved her and I think perhaps in her own way she loved him. Perhaps if circumstances had been different, had she not been married or been quite so callous, they could have made each other happy. At the beginning her intentions could not have been... what they were at the end – to destroy him and everything around him. And it is that summer that I've come to talk to you about... do you remember the last time we saw each other?"

She grinned. "Of course... a knock-kneed little colt of a girl with a flat chest and practically reeking of book learning. I would have never guessed you would have grown into such a beautiful woman. Your brazen demeanor however comes as less of a surprise. Your brother was almost a man grown – certainly with a man's appetites— and yet you dragged him out of my door with a few haughty looks and a few words that shocked even me. As I recall you told him that 'whining like a whore to a whore was surely futile as if anyone would know how to resist wheedling it would be a woman who spread her legs professionally.'"

"If I caused any offense..."

She cackled. "I laughed about it for weeks."

"It was difficult for me to see him debase himself so."

"Particularly to a whore I imagine."

I waved her comment away with a hand. "Some of my closest friends and almost all of the most powerful noble ladies of the court are whores of one kind of another. Often for something less sensible than coin. But to hear him beg someone who was so obviously dead set against giving him what he wanted... that was difficult."

Her mouth twisted and she took another sip of her spirits while I waited. Finally she sighed. "I assume you're not an idiot. You haven't come to tell me a story I already know, one that happened in my own house. I remember your brother and his...coldhearted seducer well enough. You've come for the letters, haven't you?"

I nodded.

"What makes you think I'd be any more inclined to give them to you than I was to your brother?"

I considered my answer for a long moment before replying, running a finger along the edge of my glass and not looking at her. "Because I am willing to pay you handsomely for them. Name your price and it will be yours."

She laughed. "You think me willing to do anything for coin?"

"It's a gesture of respect. You've made clear what you value. I am trying to bargain well with you, that's all."

"And what are you planning to do with them?"

"I am going to put right some past wrongs."

"Are they going to become public?"

"I don't know yet."

"So you're planning to use them as leverage? To do what with them?"

"Does it matter to you?"

"Yes."

I considered her for a long moment. She was a difficult woman to read because she'd spent so much of her adult life living as a fantasy for the men who came to pay her for it. This laughing, slightly menacing, older woman facade she'd adopted was for my benefit – a reflection of my own expectations about the madam of a brothel. I had to decide whether or not she would be pleased at the idea that I would use the letters to wreck vengeance... or would the truth do?

Finally, slowly, the words coming out gradually, I said very deliberately, "I won't hurt anyone with them who doesn't deserve it twice over."

"You mean Saeril?"

"Yes."

She considered for a second. "Ten gold crowns," she said. "And your necklace."

I took out my purse and counted out the crowns and then added my necklace, a silver chain with a beautiful amethyst pendant. I had sold two other pieces of jewelry much nicer than that for the gold but she'd undervalued the letters by tenfold. I had thirty more gold crowns in my purse and had been ready to get as many more as she asked.

But the price wasn't a mistake, simply a token. She was making a gift of the letters to me, or at least as much of a gift as a woman in her profession ever made. She went to her dresser and pulled back a layer of dresses in the top drawer and came back with a small silk purse. From it she pulled a sheaf of papers and handed them to me. "Your brother never offered to buy these."

"He is usually much better at seeing the best path. But he never was quite rational where Saeril was concerned."

She shrugged. "Men never are in their first passion."

The next morning I slept late. By the time I'd managed to climb back over the wall the gray light of dawn was already creeping back into the city. I breakfasted alone and then left promptly. When I called at the gate of the Winweld house I was greeted by a grim looking housekeeper who let me into the sitting room and then went to call the Lady down. Lady Winweld looked wary as she entered. Under her gown her belly was enormous and she put one hand reflexively to her back before lowering herself onto the couch. "Hello, Lady Lothíriel."

"Hello, Lady Winweld."

"This is an unexpected surprise."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"In my present condition...well, I get very few visitors."

"You should let them know it isn't catching."

She looked shocked, almost about to protest my impropriety, but then instead she laughed. "Yes, perhaps I should," she agreed.

I didn't waste any time. "I need to know everything there is to know about this knight."

She reacted as if I had slapped her. She drew herself up in the chair and pressed her lips together. "If you think to gather information for that brother of yours to mock me with..."

I cut her off. "I want to help you find him."

For a long moment she was silent. "Why?"

Finally, I thought, a little promise. The old Winweld would never have thought to be suspicious of someone offering her help, even me. I was glad for her. She would need a little cunning to protect her baby, but there was something almost like the dull stab of sorrow in my breast when I thought about the blank, sweet, naive girl who was gone forever. She hadn't deserved to get burned quite so badly.

"Selfish motives. It doesn't matter which ones."

"It matters to me."

Though I had hoped to avoid it, I had expected Winweld to have some questions for me in this vein. I met her wide, blue eyes completely and said, with as little flourish as I could, "I am in love with a man who is being blackmailed by someone who is threatening to spread a rumor that he is the father of your child."

"Who..."

I didn't wait to find out if she wanted to know who was my lover or my blackmailer. "It doesn't matter who. All that matters is that I am willing to help you. And the only question is, are you willing to help me?"

She considered for a moment, though not so long as I might have expected. The knight's name was Daeron from Landis. He was a hedge knight of no real repute but according to Winweld, also one of the noblest men in Middle-earth. His family lived in a small dwelling outside of Landis but they had already been contacted and didn't know where he was. She hadn't been allowed to talk to him before he was forced to leave the city so she had no idea where he might be. A dead end.

As I stood to leave Winweld rose to her feet and we curtseyed to each other even though it seemed somewhat painful for her. I had just put my hand on the door to leave when I thought of something, "Would you... would you do anything to get him back, Winweld? Anything at all?"

"Yes... well actually no, I suppose not."

"What would you stop at?"

"I wouldn't do anything that would change either one of us into something that was... less than the people we were when we fell in love. What use is love if its objects are deformed past recognition?"

I swallowed hard in my throat. What use indeed? "What about your reputation? What about his reputation?"

She laughed, gesturing to her swollen belly. "What reputation?"

I nodded and to my surprise I said, "I am going to make this right for you, Winweld. I promise. And... and I apologize for what I said to you in the past."

"You don't owe me anything, Lothíriel."

"Not just you, no."

The next visit was one I wanted to make even less but I wanted to do it before the noon meal.

When Lady Harra was ushered into her sitting room and found me waiting for her she must have been surprised but her expression showed absolutely nothing. Even I was impressed. "Ah, Lady Lothíriel," she cooed. "You are looking so very tanned and muscular from your little sojourn to the north. How unbecoming."

"Hello, Lady Harra."

"Please do sit down and let me find something edible for you. Though I'm afraid we are all out of horse meat pies or whatever you're accustomed to these days."

"I'm sure I'll enjoy whatever is convenient."

When the tea and biscuits were arranged and served we sat in silence for almost three full minutes. But finally Harra laughed and said, "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Your brother wants something, I assume?"

"Quite the opposite. I am going to destroy Amrothos and I want your help doing it." I spoke as flatly as I could. Harra was clever and if I tried to play a part there was a good chance she would see through it. By keeping my voice and demeanor neutral I was counting on her malicious imagination to project into my actions whatever motivation she would find most plausible.

Her eyes jerked up at that, raking over me for a long second, before she said, quite calmly, "I see. Any particular reason you feel like doing this?"

"Do I need one in particular?"

She let out a little laugh and broke off a piece of a biscuit with long, elegant fingers. "True enough. He's been quite the little bastard recently and I should know better than anyone. A master should know her disciple after all. But why come to me? If you have something on him, take your shot."

"I've been away from the court too long. I need you to arrange everything."

"And why would I do that?"

"You don't have to play coy with me, Harra."

She gave a little tinkling laugh. "There is something tender and sincere in him that just makes you want to wipe him off the bottom of your shoe. It must run in the family. But your point is well taken... my motives in the venture you propose would be obvious. But what about yours? You seemed quite sure after the war that you were done with schemes, the court, and certainly with me. What could have changed your mind?"

"This is my last act. I need to make a clean break and Amrothos is the last string tying me to the world of the court."

"Oh? Your last act? Well... I suppose we'll see. But that doesn't answer my question. You said some fairly... unmitigated things about what you thought of me and my ways. How can I be expected to trust you after all your little tantrums?"

"If you don't trust me then don't. You don't have to do anything specific until I bring you what I have on Amrothos," I said. "Oh, except that I want you to send some knights from Castle Harra south to find the hedge knight who got Winweld with child." The more looking over the huge area of Gondor the better, he would be found quicker. "Until I know his fate, I can't act on Amrothos. But that's a trifle of a thing compared to what I am offering you..."

"Winweld? What has she got to do with it?"

"Just do it."

She ate the other half her biscuit, considering for a long moment. "Valar!" she said finally. "You aren't joking are you!"

"No. I'm not."

The next month was a waiting game.

I tried my best to fill my days. There were the usual endless string of balls and parties, get-togethers and sowing circles but I found the time I spent at them almost as agonizing as the sleepless hours I spent staring out into the dark while tumbling over and over my plan, looking for a misstep or a flaw.

My father and I took to having dinner together often, which had never been our habit before. At the beginning it was awkward – stiff and punctuated by long, strained silences and interminable lectures about sailing techniques, knots and the resultant commerce in Dol Amroth. But eventually we found common topics: horses, war stories, Erchirion's impending nuptials and Rohan. It wasn't exactly enjoyable eating with him — I was still excruciatingly aware of both our past and my undiminished awe and terror of him—but it was a small sign of approval and I cherished it.

Amrothos and I went along as we had before. It was an odd, languorous torture to be so close to him and keep silent, all my instincts crying out to warn him of what was planned (what I was planning!) for him. But whatever discomfort I may have displayed he must have attributed to what he had done to me for his attitude towards me didn't change one jot.

I sometimes went to see Winweld and there grew between us an odd kind of affection, something between sisters and acquaintances. With our respective temperaments we could never have been friends. But though she still irritated me with her simplicity and I still scandalized her with my candor, the undeniable similarity in our situations— both in love with men who for one reason or another had gone out of our lives— was appealing. That, in addition to the intimacy of a shared conspiracy and our isolation from the court at large, was enough to draw us together.

I was coming back from visiting Winweld, almost back to my father's house, when I saw my cousin Faramir for the first time since that fateful picnic. He was coming down the hill in the gathering gloom of dusk and he greeted me with an uncomplicated, unfeigned smile. So Éowyn didn't tell him what I did, I thought, wondering if that should encourage or worry me.

"Hello, Cousin," I greeted him.

"Hello, Lothíriel." He kissed my fingers lightly. "I'm glad to see you. I thought to miss you. Your father said you might not be back until dinner."

I laughed. "I'm as bad as cat, coming and going just as I please with no regard to anyone else."

"Éowyn likes her independence as well."

We exchanged some few pleasantries but the dusk was rapidly falling and it was a brief exchange. We parted ways, me going up the street and he going down.

I passed through the arch—that same arch where I had asked Éomer to kiss me – was halfway to the house when the gate guard called after me, "Lady! I forgot! There was a note that came for you while you were out!"

I went back to the gatehouse and accepted the note tiredly. He stepped out to let me have some privacy while I read it by the light of the candle in the gatehouse. I recognized Lady Harra's beautiful, flowing script as I ripped it open.

Sir Daeron is dead. I still expect you to hold up your end of arrangement. Meet me in the library tonight.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to you if you're reading and reviewing. Love to Lady Bluejay for editing this story. XO Spake


	13. Chapter 13

My mind raced as I read the note a second and a third time, trying to make sense of it. What came next? What came next, what came next, what came next? For a torturous moment I couldn't hear my thoughts over the noise of panic. I stepped out into the street. "Faramir! Faramir!" I called, but he was nowhere to be seen. I swore loudly in Rohirric.

"Well, pathetic my Rohirric may be, but I know what that means!" His voice came out of the dark. "I am shocked at you, Cous...'

He came back up the street, and I ran down to him. "Faramir, I need you to escort me somewhere and not to ask any questions."

"Where? Why?" I gave him an exasperated look. "Oh, right...no questions. I don't know about this, Lothíriel..."

"For the love you bear me!" I insisted. "Please..."

He looked grim. "Lothíriel..." he said softly. "You know that I don't like the kind of games that you and Amrothos get up to..."

"It isn't a game! I have to do this, and it has to be tonight. Cousin, I have never asked you for anything in my life! And I never will if you just do this for me."

He swallowed, seeming to know that this was something he didn't want to do. "Lothíriel, if I see anything unsavory I am going to put a stop to it."

"Fine," I said. You won't be coming that far with me anyway, I added silently.

We went first to Lady Winweld's house, taking the guard from the gate with us. They were at the dinner table but, with the aid of a coin, I managed to convince the maid who answered the door to slip her a note and let us wait in the garden.

"What is this about?" Faramir asked while we waited.

"I'll tell you when Winweld arrives."

When Winweld came out into the garden she looked confused.

"Lothíriel? What's going on?"

Her belly was so big these days she moved only with great difficulty. It made me uncomfortable to be around her. Irrationally, I worried that she could trip or go into labor at any moment. But I shook my head. "Faramir has to take you to the barracks now. I don't have time to explain but there are some knights from Dol Amroth there and you are to tell them that I said they should take you to my father's castle in Belfalas, leaving immediately. Tell them tomorrow won't be soon enough."

"There are no knights of Dol Amroth in the barracks," Faramir contradicted me. "Any Swan Knights would be at your house..."

"They came back two weeks ago and I ordered them to stay in the barracks," I interjected, shaking my head with a violent, nervous movement. "I didn't want anyone to know they had returned."

"What? Why?" Winweld asked, glancing back at the house to the light emitting from the dining room where her father would be supping. He couldn't be seen since the garden sloped down from the main house but the warm glow of the safe, known refuge spilled out into the darkness like a beacon.

I shook my head. "I don't have time to explain," I said, trying to keep the hard edge of frustration out of my voice. "And you can't tell your father, but something is going to happen tonight and I want you safe and out of the city as soon as possible in case things go badly."

Her face went utterly blank. She wasn't the kind of girl to go riding out in the night without permission and on the advice of one of the most notorious court schemers. She turned away from me slightly. "Lothi, I can't do that. You know I can't. Not after everything I've already done..."

I bit back a scream of frustration. I was terrified of what would happen if this went wrong – to me, to Éomer, to her – that I mistook it for anger, an easier emotion for me. All the planning and pain and danger I had risked for this plan, everything I had done to lead this stupid cow of a girl practically by the nose away from the wolves that surrounded her, and she was refusing at the crucial moment? I wanted to strike the impudence from her with the palm of my hand.

But then, unexpectedly, an image filled my head of Éomer reaching down to pull me onto the back of a horse and carry me into the mouth of the Paths of the Dead. I too had balked at the unknown, shied away even from something I knew was best, out of cowardice. Éomer had literally pulled me by the hand out of my cowardice. Éomer... the thought of his courage, dedication and unyielding determination to do what was right at any cost, and most of all the precious, unexpected kindness he had shown towards a girl he had no reason to trust or love, caused the rage to ebb as quickly as it had swelled. It left behind a tender empathy I had never felt for her before.

In the dark I reached out and took her hands in my own, drawing her close to me and forcing her to meet my gaze. "Did you love him? Did you love Daeron?"

"More than anything. He was my sun and stars."

"And do you want his progeny to have a chance at a life away from Minas Tirith?" Instinctively her hand wrapped over her belly, as if to pull the child, already inside of her, closer still. She didn't have to answer past that. "Then why are you hesitating? If you have an opportunity to protect him, then seize it, danger and consequences be Valar-cursed. If you aren't willing to risk a little for love, Winweld what are you going to be ready to risk for it?"

Her head swayed from side to side to avoid my gaze, almost like a horse trying to throw its bridle. Even in the dim light I could see tears shimmering in the deep blue pools of her eyes. "If I do this and I fail, my father... will never look at me again," she said, voice thick with emotion.

"You won't fail, Winweld," I said as firmly as I could. "Even if everything goes wrong for me tonight I will protect you in this. I swear it. I have done everything I can to arrange things for you, but you must trust me."

She met my eyes then and I could see in them a wholly reasonable doubt. I was asking her to gamble with her life based on whether or not she trusted me. And she had very little reason to. Finally, after a long pause, she let out a long, whistling sigh like a kettle beginning to boil. "If I had been told a year ago that you would come to me in heartbreak offering to help me, I would have laughed and asked whose heart you were planning to steal so that you could then break it. But I've seen you these past months and I know you aren't lying to me about that at least. I know you think I'm silly and naïve and I understand that's how I must seem to you, but I know what sorrow looks like, even on your proud brow. And I think you are telling the truth about the rest. Even if you aren't I couldn't live the rest of my life if I didn't take the chance now. I will go where you tell me to."

I pulled her into a hug, crushing her swollen chest against mine tightly. "Thank you, Winweld! Thank you!"

Whatever happened next she would at least be safe — free to raise her child away from the court if she chose to. That, at least, was sure. I wouldn't allow anything to happen to her.

As if echoing my own thoughts, Faramir spoke up when we fell apart, me still grasping her hand and beaming. "I'm not sure I can allow this. The Lady doesn't have her father's permission to leave the city and in her current condition..."

I ignored him and began to tug Winweld by the hand toward the gate. "Just take her to the barracks. The captain of the knights is named Rollis and he will explain everything there," I said. "For now you have to believe me and hurry up."

"Are you leaving, my lady?" The gate guard asked as we passed.

"A short walk to the citadel," I lied before any of the more honest members of our party could ruin everything. "The lady's condition is troubling her some."

Faramir hesitated when I turned up the street to break away from them. He put out a hand on my arm to stop me. "Lothi...," he began.

"Just take her to the barracks. The captain will explain everything to you. If you don't like the explanation you can return Winweld home before her father even begins to worry. But for now, Cousin I really cannot delay any longer."

He frowned. "Where are you going?"

"Into Shelob's lair." I pulled my arm gently from his grip. "And I can't be late and neither can you. Get a move on."

The walk in the dark to the library was a welter of emotion. I felt as I had on the bank of the stream at Yule, poised to plunge into dark, unknown and freezing waters. Dread made my legs feel leaden but I forced them to beat against the cobblestones with a steady, even rhythm. My heart beat fast and furious against my chest and my fists clenched at my sides.

The streets seemed somehow deserted, though the night was still young. I felt utterly alone walking through them. Even the noise and explosion of light from the odd tavern I passed seemed distant and muted somehow, as if the night had been plunged into murky water or suddenly transported into the bowels of a deep and enormous cave. I should have known it would be so. In all my favorite stories the hero is always left on their own in the end. The descent to the final battle is a private thing.

As I pushed open the familiar door, strange and forbidding in the weird, luminous moonlight, I felt as if I was entering a great maw in the earth instead of a building. Harra must have chosen the library out of whimsy. Destroying me in the closest thing I had to a home in the city was the kind of poetry that would appeal to her.

Inside, Lady Harra was standing perfectly straight with a roaring fire behind her. She made quite a tableau with her long legs spread slightly and her head thrown back in an air of perfect relaxation. I had no doubt that she knew it too. She watched me approach with an amused expression. "Hello, kitten."

"Hello, Harra."

"Did you bring what I wanted?" she asked. I nodded, involuntarily touching the sheaf of paper I had been carrying in a small silk purse since I had returned from Marie's brothel. I had slept with it under my pillow for weeks. I would be glad to get rid of it as it was rather thick and made finding a comfortable place to put my head a delicate matter. "Good girl." She held out a slender hand.

"Don't you want to know what they are?" I asked.

She frowned. "Does it matter? You've promised they could destroy your brother."

"I didn't lie. They would ruin Amrothos' reputation in the court... but then again they would do just as much damage to yours. These are the love letters Amrothos wrote to you during your affair... and the ones you wrote back," I said. "The last physical remnants of the time in our lives when we were friends, Saeril."

Real surprise flashed across Lady Saeril Harra's face. But as soon as it came it was gone and her usual expression of hateful indifference returned. "We were never friends, little kitten," she said lazily. "I bedded your virgin brother in a whorehouse while you waited in the library and thought up alibis for the three of us. Or is that what you think friendship is?"

"No. But it is how you conceive it. We were friends, Saeril."

She ignored that, snapping, "Where did you get them?"

"Marie gave them to me. That whole summer you stashed them in a drawer in the room she let you use so that your husband and my father wouldn't find them. And she kept them for all this time after you left."

"I had always wondered if those letters were still around somewhere. Marie was always smart for a whore," she said lazily. "I should have had her driven out of the city with a whip and burned her slattern's den to the ground."

"In retrospect things always seem clearer."

"Well, it's never too late," she mused. "There's always a lesson to be learned."

For a moment she considered me, raking eyes like talons over my body. With some effort I managed to stare coolly back. "So," she said finally, "what do you want, kitten?"

"I want you to let my brother go," I said without hesitation. "I know you've taken to bedding him again. I want you to stop meddling around with his thoughts and emotions. He was always miserable enough without you doing everything you could to twist him up just to watch him dangle. And I certainly want you to stop sending him to me as your headsman, telling me you 'forbid me' Éomer! I know you made him come to me on Beltane! He never was as desperately mean as he was when he was dancing on the end of your string, Harra!" Without intending it, my voice had turned gradually into a shout.

"Leave your brother alone?" She smiled wide enough to swallow a mouse whole, showing all her poisonous fangs. "Not very sisterly of you to make decisions for him without even bothering to ask how he feels. I think we should consult him before we make any rash decisions. Amrothos! Amrothos come here!"

He had been leaning against the wall in the deep shadows cast by the fire, invisible in a dark blue cloak and pants, and so seeming to appear almost as if conjured by her voice. He slunk into the light like a beaten dog, not looking directly at either of us. His face was a frozen mask.

"Hello, Amrothos," I said, keeping my voice even only with some effort. I had expected this of course but the sight of him was like a physical blow.

"Hello, Lothíriel."

"Amrothos," Harra tittered, "what do you want little Lothi to do with the letters?"

He looked between us for a long moment, not directly at either but at the floor just exactly between us. Then finally, voice low and almost unreadable said, "Give me the letters, Lothi."

I couldn't see his face since it was turned away from the fire, but I hesitated. "Amrothos," I pleaded. "Please think about this. I'm trying to give you a chance to get away from her. You don't have to do what she says if you don't want to."

"Give me the letters," he repeated.

Slowly I extended them to him and he took them gently. He turned toward the fire and the moment I saw his face I knew what would happen next. Amrothos' face was contorted in a mask of pain, like a man with a dagger in his bowels.

"Oh, Amrothos... please don't."

He flicked the letters into the fire. Between two breaths they were kindling rapidly.

He swallowed hard, as if around a lump in his throat. "I am sorry, Lothi," he whispered.

From the table Harra chuckled throatily. "Come here my good boy," she cooed at him.

He went to the edge and took his kiss. It was hateful the way he mashed his lips down onto hers but the indifference with which she met his desperation was infinitely more cruel. When they broke apart he was sweating and panting like a man in a fever and she was smiling languidly. Her eyes were on me, her lover already forgotten.

"I taught you everything you know, little kitten and you aren't going to outsmart me. The letters are burned, the knight is dead and your power is gone. Go back to your room while we decide what your punishment will be."

For a long moment I was speechless. The precipice, the fatal moment, had finally come, and I found myself robbed of breath and will for a second, so laden with a plethora of emotions all contending for a prime spot at the front of the line. Harra stared down at me with open, obvious glee and Amrothos simply stared down at the floor. I looked at my brother and for a second I saw him not as he was, but as he had been: a sincere little boy with wide somber eyes and a stubborn, troubled little mouth. He had been my mother's darling, and the most feminine of my brothers: not a strapping warrior like my father, but a scholar. For years he had been my only confidant as well. He was the only person in the world who knew the exact measure of my wickedness and loved me in spite of it. Erchirion, Éomer, even Gænwyn, could only guess at what I had done during all those years in the court. Amrothos had seen me do my worst, and he had never turned away from me.

I looked at him, not at Harra, as I spoke next, grinding the words out through clenched teeth. "You taught me everything you know. Not everything I know. I wish I didn't have a talent for this sort of sport but I do, and one of which you only ever saw the beginning. Allow me to correct your ignorance.

"Sir Daeron isn't dead, he's in Belfalas. You were just too impatient to wait for him to be found and so lied to me because it suited you. I wanted to wait for him to come to Minas Tirith and to be settled with Winweld before I brought you the letters. It's no matter though. He will wait for Winweld there, where she is headed tonight on a very fast ship. I expect she has already left the city, which means that she will be in my father's house in three dawns and married to the man she loves before breakfast that day. The baby won't be a bastard but Daeron's true born heir. They're going to live in his home fiefdom of Lanfast.

"I put the letters between you and Amrothos into the hands of one of my father's Knights weeks ago. He took it to Edoras in a sealed envelope, along with a letter to Erchirion implying that they were love letters Éomer wrote me and asking him to keep them safe for me. What Amrothos threw into the fire was just a bundle of old paper I've been carrying around. If you ever threaten me or anyone dear to me again, I will get them back and pass them around the court so fast it will astound you."

I spoke without joy because I truly felt none. I had imagined that it would feel good to explain to her just how thoroughly I had beaten her but this was no victory to gloat over. It was true perhaps that I had won, but there was no glory in it. "If you have no other leverage against me then we are done with each other. For good this time."

Her eyes narrowed sharply, glancing swiftly between me and my brother. But quick as a spider she thought, hissing out, "If you publish those letters you would destroy Amrothos as well. You wouldn't do that to your brother."

"I would save him from the court by publishing them!" I lashed out. "If I could, I would publish them now. Give me the opportunity and I would be glad to sever his ties to you and your kind."

"You would do it against his own will?"

"Gladly! I told you Harra, I am better at this sort of game than I would wish... more like you than I would choose."

For a moment she stared at me, eyes wide, calculating. Fleetingly I thought she might spring at me. But finally the tension in her shoulders relaxed somehow and she grinned widely, though completely without mirth.

"You know..." she said, with a small little smile, "under almost any other circumstance I would be proud of you for this little maneuver. The strategy is admirable and the heartlessness of using your own brother like that... I can't help but admire it. And I suppose it's not a total loss on my end either. I imagine you managed to drive a dagger into that barbarian king's heart better than anything I could have done with some trivial bit of gossip about Winweld. I saw his face that night at Beltane when he danced with you. The great savage truly did love you, kitten. I've never seen a man so obviously besotted with a woman. To have you reveal yourself to be just what he'd always been told and never believed, right at the height of his love... it's enough to drive a man like that –so honest and noble and sure of his own judgment—mad. But I expect you already know that. A broken, pathetic little look has crept into your once cold, distant eyes, and I wager it's there to stay."

The words 'get out of my sight' rose in my throat and were quelled. As satisfying as it would be, what I wanted more than the last word was to be finished finally and completely with Saeril. If I started up the insults again, if I gave her any provocation, I would only end up tangled up in her web again.

She slid off the table, lithe and serpentine. "But it isn't enough, Lothi. The letters are enough to let you and your barbarian go free, and your little pet Winweld too, but your brother stays with me. It isn't a fair bargain otherwise."

"It's not a bargain at all. Either you do what I want or I release the letters."

"And that will damn you and Winweld to lives of misery. For if you do that there will be nothing to stop me from hunting the two of you down like the little vermin you are. You see how this works? You can't have all of it for the price of one." She paused with a grim little smile. "However, I'm not unreasonable. I am not unaware that my husband will soon return from his seat, as he has the unfortunate habit of doing, and my little dalliance with your brother will have to end. My husband is after all... nothing if not observant." She shuddered slightly. "I am willing to let you have your brother for a small, extra token."

"What token?"

She grinned and came close, almost as if to embrace me, but at the last moment simply trailing her long, slender fingers over the silver bracelet at my wrist. My Yule gift from Éomer. Instinctively I drew it back from her, clasping it protectively with my own hand. She grinned widely.

"Oh, yes. I suspected it was a gift of his. You wear it even when it doesn't suit. And now I know that I was right. I will have it from you now."

It was almost the only thing I had that physically reminded me of him. Worse, if I ever saw him again, if I ever had the chance to try to explain my actions, how could I possibly account for its loss? My hopes that he might ever make his offer again were almost nothing, but without the bracelet he might never look at me again with anything but anger and contempt.

"Not prepared to offer me even a petty little bauble for your own brother? And I always though loyalty was one of your weaknesses."

I could have sliced my wrist open with less pain than it took me to slide the band from it and drop it into her outstretched palm. Éowyn had accused me of keeping it as a trophy, and as Harra slid it onto her own wrist I finally understood some of the rage she'd felt at seeing me wear it. I wanted to tear it from her, but I bit my lips hard and said nothing.

She considered it on her delicate arm fondly for a moment. "The craftsmanship is surprisingly good. I think it will become one of my very favorite ornaments."

"Is that all? Are we done?"

She chuckled, looking me once from head to toe. "Yes, kitten, we are done." She turned to go but then came back, leaning close to me and cupping her hand to my ear, hissing like a little girl whispering a secret. "Amrothos will always hate you for what you did tonight you know. I took your lover from you and now I've taken him as well."

She didn't look at him though as she left the library. To me she tossed a sly, saucy look, but she couldn't bear to look at him. She had been young when she married her husband and he was a cruel, hard man. My brother hadn't been her first, nor likely her most recent, seduction but I had always suspected that he meant the most to her. The reckless, joyful abandonment that had suffused her in those first days of her acquaintance with him I had never seen since. The hunger in her for power, of any kind at any cost, had found a fount of adoration in him that was unquenchable. And even more than that, the keening loneliness in her very deepest mind had found an answering note in the shy, introverted young man he had once been. In another time and place perhaps they could have been happy together. But she was married and he was young, and so instead they had destroyed in each other all those things in which they'd seen their likeness.

"I'm sorry, Amrothos," I said when the door closed behind her, meaning it.

The moment was a knife's edge. What said and passed between me and my brother next would define our relationship for the rest of our lives. I didn't dare breathe or move.

His eyes never left mine and we stared at each other for a long moment. Then, to my surprise he stepped forward and tucked an errant piece of hair behind one of my ears, letting his fingers linger next to my face and smiling down at me like he used to do when I was a girl and he was still my hero.

Joy broke open in me like a flood. The man looking down at me was my brother again—painfully damaged and exhausted, but returned somehow as if from the dead. Harra had been wrong about him. She'd understood perfectly all the worst parts about him, taken the exact measure of his weaknesses, but his strengths she'd never quite seen clearly. And what she knew about his goodness, she had long forgotten. With those he cared for he had always been generous with his forgiveness and malice was not his when he didn't want it to be. He wouldn't always hate me. He had already let the bitterness that could have been his (that would have been Harra's and might have been mine in his situation) slide away from him somehow.

I clutched him to me, whispering, "I really am sorry, Amrothos."

He kissed my forehead. "Don't be sorry. If there is an apology owed between us it is mine to make. I never wanted to hurt you like I did, you must believe me." He sounded tired beyond believing— sadder and older than a man his age had any right to be.

"I believe you," I said honestly. "And I forgive you."

If anyone understood telling a brutal, hurtful lie for the sake of love it was me after all.

"I wanted this to be over," I said. "For both of us."

"This isn't over, Lothi," he said simply. "It never will be, not for me."

"Not if you don't want it to be."

He smiled sadly down at me. "I know, Lothi. I don't expect you to understand but I would rather have the memory of her—the husk of what we felt for each other— than anything new that might contaminate or dilute it."

I laced my fingers into his and squeezed reassuringly. "I think I might understand better than you think."

When we returned to the house, the walk back having passed in exhausted, delicate silence, Faramir was waiting for me at the gate. Amrothos left me there with a small squeeze on my fingers and no words. He walked up towards the house in a daze, not bothering to greet our cousin. "Care to explain any of this?" Faramir asked pointedly.

I shrugged. "I sent Lady Winweld to Dol Amroth," I said. "The knight who is the father of her child is waiting for her there. I had to thank Lady Harra for helping me find him."

"Rollis told me all of that already. How did you find him?" Faramir asked.

"I borrowed some knights from my father and sent them south. I told them not to look for the knight but to simply spread the rumor that Winweld was with child and set to marry a Haradrim prince in Dol Amroth. He turned up at Dol Amroth on his own within the week. I had a letter, waiting for him to explain the truth of the matter."

"You sent them to spread a rumor?" he asked, shocked.

"I sent them to find him," I replied coldly. "And it worked. Better that Winweld find a bad start to her reputation in the south than that she not go at all."

"She might feel differently. You made that decision for her though..." he pointed out.

I didn't care. To keep Éomer safe I would make a thousand morally ambiguous decisions. It was stupid, he wouldn't have approved of what I had done, wouldn't have made the same decision himself. But I couldn't bring myself to care, even a little bit. I would keep him safe, despite of himself if need be. "If she has complaints she can write me a letter," I said pulling my arm from his grip. "Good night, Cousin."

As I walked up the gravel path he called after me, "But why would you do all that?"

I didn't bother to turn back or to break my stride. But I shouted at the top of my lungs, letting the single word ring out into the night with all my sorrow and despair and bitter frustration. "Love!"

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! And love to Lady Bluejay for editing this! XO Spake


	14. Chapter 14

I left for Rohan as soon as my bags could be packed and Amrothos could be persuaded, or rather persisted upon, to accompany me.

To my surprise and discomfort this took less than a week. Normally I would have suspected his unresisting demeanor of concealing some treachery, but now it was the fact that I didn't which troubled me. He had been so mild, so willing to be led since the night in the library. It was difficult to watch a man, once so proud and cruel, so shattered. Perhaps it was a blessing that his will to scheme and betray had gone. But at what cost? Despite my role (or perhaps because of it) as the architect of his undoing, I missed the passionate, devious, monstrous brother I knew. This passive, malleable man in his place was an unwelcome stranger.

"Lothi," he said wearily. "Rohan was your cure. It isn't a panacea. I won't find the same peace there that you did." He was right, too. Amrothos' cure would come years later.

So we left for Rohan. But despite all that I had done and endured for the sake of my right to return, I found myself too cowardly to go to Edoras. Instead, I took the Paths of the Dead. It gave me an excuse not to even stop over a night with my brother in the capital, traveling straight to Gænwyn's seat in Dunharrow. The journey was something of a catastrophe. Amrothos had never ridden so far in his life and my own hard-won comfort in the saddle had atrophied to a degree I wouldn't have imagined possible during the months spent in the city. The mounts we had borrowed from my father, gentle though uninspired animals, plodded along at a pace that I found excruciating, necessary as it was with two such pathetic riders.

I had told my father that I'd written to Gænwyn to ask permission for the two of us to visit, but in fact I hadn't bothered. It would take a month for a letter to go and return and I didn't dare risk staying in the city that long. Amrothos and I both needed to get away long enough for the chaos I had caused to die down, and the wounds inflicted to cauterize. My father and I agreed that we would meet in Edoras in two month's time when Erchirion would wed Lithoer, and we parted with a careful, delicate tenderness. He, like the rest of the court, knew what part I had played in Winweld's surprising marriage and though he'd never mentioned it, the way he kissed my brow as we embraced in the yard spoke more clearly than he could ever articulate.

I wasn't even sure that we would find Gænwyn in residence, though I couldn't imagine she would be anywhere else with the harvest beginning to come in and so much work to do. But even if she was home, would she be pleased to see me? At night I tossed and turned on my bedroll, worrying pointlessly, tirelessly. She'd told me once that I would always be welcome in her home but hers was not an imagination that could have dreamed up what I had done.

I remembered a conversation we'd had at the conclusion of one of the more tedious, irritating afternoon of our rangeings together. The horses pulling one of the grain wagons had seen a snake in the path and spooked, pulling the laden cart off the road. We'd had to unload almost all the sacks of flour before the men could push it back out of the ditch. The two of us helped as well, wishing to make it to the next village before dark so we wouldn't have to sleep on our bedrolls. Though it had been a chilly, bright autumn day by the time we were done, we had all taken off our shawls and winter clothes before the work was finished.

As we'd crawled up the embankment ourselves, once the cart had been set to rights, I'd tried fruitlessly to shake off the mud that had caked onto the bottom of my gown. In the end I'd given up with a sigh and a haughty toss of my hair. With her usual insight Gænwyn must have guessed that I had been thinking about how I would have reacted when first coming to Rohan, if I'd found myself in such a disgraceful state.

"You can have it washed at the next village we pass," she said.

"I doubt you'll find a washerwoman in Middle-earth who could save it once the mud's set in," I shot back but without any malice.

"A Rohirric lady shouldn't be afraid to get her hem dirty anyway," she agreed approvingly.

"You think me a Rohirric lady?" To my surprise, I was flattered.

She'd been joking before but suddenly her expression turned serious, if not somber. "This is your home now, Lothíriel. Surely you see that."

I grinned. "Perhaps a Rohirrim then, but not a lady. A lady would have a seat but I only have a cottage in the city."

I turned to swing onto my horse but she caught my hands in hers and peered into my eyes with something which can only be expressed in language as 'ferocity.' "Your seat is my seat then. My door will always be open to you, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth and I would be proud to call you my family."

At the time I had brushed it off. The Rohirrim in general, and Gænwyn in particular, take hospitality to every extent logic will support. She had always regarded me as something of a mix between her protégé and a beloved, long-lost and favorite niece. The fact that we had no blood in common meant nothing.

But that was before I had refused and humiliated her King. And I found myself playing over and over the expressions of endearment and welcome she had heaped on me as we drew closer to what she had once declared 'my seat as well as hers.'

The journey through the Dimholt was relatively uneventful. Once I might have once been afraid to make the journey, but after all that had happened, the thought of riding in the dark was unappealing but not terrifying for me. What could the earth or ghosts of warriors long dead do to me that I hadn't already done to myself, or those I loved most?

We passed into darkness, and then out of it, and the sun was only just beginning to go down when we arrived in Dunharrow. As we rode through the village Amrothos looked around him with his usual weary detachment, and I shifted nervously wondering what he would think of this country that had won such a high place in my heart.

"Why do they stare so?" he mused as we rode up through the gate of her hold.

"It's the black hair. Even with the handful of Gondorians working at the Dimholt, they rarely see the like."

"I suppose not."

We were greeted at the gate by a stable hand who held our bridles while we dismounted. "Is the lady of the house in?" I asked in Rohirric when I had my feet on the ground.

But he didn't have time to answer. There was a shout from the door of the main hall and Gænwyn came running down the small slope towards us. All my doubts, magnified during the long ride, evaporated when I saw her face. There was no reserve in the joy of her smile, no alteration of her demeanor towards me in the slightest. She grasped my hands as we met before I could even manage a curtsey, spewing out questions and answering most of them herself: why hadn't I written to tell her I was coming? Her table wasn't nearly fine enough for guests tonight. Who was my handsome companion? My brother surely, we looked so similar. Where was Erchirion? Hadn't I told him I was coming? Why had I stayed so long in Minas Tirith? Surely I had missed Rohan terribly. I looked so fine in my new clothes she would hardly recognize me but for my awkward seat in the saddle. She kissed my cheek with vigor and then began pulling me bodily towards her hall. I stumbled, relief making my knees a little weak.

"Come, come!" she commanded in Westron. "You both come now to Dunharrow. You are resting now from long journey."

Amrothos followed the pair of us up to the hall. I shot him a glance that said: this is my closest friend, how do you find her?

His return expression said: just as I expected.

But what that would mean, only time would tell.

The dinner that night was nourishment to me that had nothing to do with the simple fare Gænwyn served us. After so many days on the road with little to tempt us both Amrothos and I ate extravagantly and drank our wine with even more abandon. Gænwyn and I stopped talking only long enough to fill our mouths — chattering away in debauched Westron for Amrothos' benefit although he seemed to pay us little mind.

To my great relief, she didn't ask me any of the questions that I might have feared about why I hadn't returned to Edoras when I'd said I would, or what had happened between me and Éomer. I didn't think he would have told her, or anyone else, but the fact that she didn't question me was enough to tell me that she had guessed at least half the truth – that we had fought badly. Otherwise she wouldn't have bothered not to scold and berate me. As I might have expected, she addressed the new situation not with tact but with a directness that was far kinder.

The first night she showed me to my quarters herself and then, not turning to leave, but rather standing with her back to the door said, "When Éomer came back from Minas Tirith after Beltane he looked as you do now: utterly shattered."

I said nothing.

"I know you are a proud woman and that intimacy does not come easily to you. If you ever want to talk about anything, I would be honored to keep your council."

I forced myself to meet her eyes, though I couldn't keep a strangled tension out of my voice. "Do you blame me?"

She smiled a little sadly. "No child, of course not. As much as you try to hide it, I've seen your heart. Whatever happened, I'm sure you didn't plan to hurt him."

I dropped my gaze from hers, swallowing hard. I did plan it though, I thought, I lay awake all that interminable night thinking about what I would do in the morning.

She nodded. "When you're ready then. For now, sleep well."

Amrothos and I spent the next three days in one of our rooms or the other. We lay on the bed and talked or read silently in separate corners and did not trouble much to come out except at mealtimes and for the occasional ride with Gænwyn. As when I had first come to Rohan, I found myself strangely reticent to leave the confines of my chambers and venture out in the world. Then it had been fear of the unknown that had kept me penned in, but now it was the painful familiarity. I hadn't anticipated the way that every blond head of hair on tall, broad shouldered men would make my heart lurch painfully, or the way that bitter-sweetness had crept into my love for the country and people. Even if they didn't know what I had done, I did. And walking among his people, accepting their kindness and hospitality, made me feel like the worst kind of villain.

My feeble desire to leave the room could hardly overcome Amrothos' less mixed opinion that there was nothing of possible interest outside of it.

I scarcely knew whose opinion I had feared more when I had decided on the plan to bring Amrothos to meet Gænwyn but, though they would never be friends, none of my grossest imaginings came true. Just as she had met my own rudeness and reticence when I'd first arrived in Rohan, she met Amrothos' removed formality with a dogged friendliness. And Amrothos—perhaps because she was our host or perhaps because he had no audience who would appreciate it—treated her with a great deal more respect and restraint than his former views of her countrymen would have indicated. Even when she teased him about not being able to remember the most basic phrases in Rohirric and not being able to sit a horse in anything like the proper way, he only gave a strained smiled and looked into the distance.

I had only slightly better luck trying to draw him out. I was able to convince him to join us on our daily rides but he plodded along silently, listening to us chatter on in a language he didn't understand and staring around at a country that held no interest for him. He accepted it all as I had accepted my life in the months after I had returned to Minas Tirith. The trappings of the outside world make so little difference when the pain within your own body is so keening.

"Do you miss Minas Tirith?" I finally got up the courage to ask on the evening of the third day, unable to bring myself to say her name.

He cocked an eyebrow at me. "I understand that I can't go back."

"That isn't an answer."

"No more than I would miss the air if I were drowning."

On the fourth day Gænwyn came early to my chambers as I was dressing. She was already wearing her riding tunic and breaches and her hair was up in a neat, tight braid. She sat on my bed as I washed my face. "I'm riding out this morning after breakfast and I've come to ask you to accompany me."

"Oh?" I turned to look at her.

"The stores left over from the winter are admittedly pitiful but they haven't been inventoried. In addition I haven't yet been able to find the time to survey the grain barns to see what damage has been done by the snow. I want to take stock of these and all the cellars and larders as well and I could use your talents as a bookkeeper. Your brother could help as well if he is so inclined, though I won't insist on it."

This was not a small favor; it would take days of work at least, even if there were few stores left as she said. My brow wrinkled. "Gænwyn, I'm not really feeling up to...that is I just want to rest for a few more days. And Amrothos won't want to either... I'm sure of it. Maybe in a few weeks..."

She shook her head. "You've rested long enough, Lothíriel. Now it's time for you to go back to work."

Contrary as always, being told what I should do – that I had rested long enough – when all I really wanted to do was crawl back under my covers and sob my eyes out, made my anger flare up. Didn't she understand that I was suffering? Didn't she understand how badly I had been hurt? I said through clenched teeth, "Don't you think I will know better when I am ready?"

To my fury, she laughed. "Not a bit. You have to force a child whose been thrown from a horse back into the saddle the first time or they'll never go of their own accord. I imagine that if I allowed it, you might never leave this room. And while that would be happy news for me, since my table is much improved by your company, it would be a sad waste of your life. It's time to get back into the saddle."

I bit my lips, trying to think of a retort.

"We leave directly after breakfast and as we'll take only a cold repast with us, I've had a large meal laid out this morning. Today I need to ride north for a spell to see some of my more distant tenants so I've tasked one of the stable boys to show you where you'll be riding today."

I wanted to refuse, but somehow the words didn't come quick enough. She'd already shut the door before I managed to bite out, "I don't want to!" It sounded ridiculously childish even to my own ears.

The stable boy was a young lad, only thirteen-years-old, though he seemed quite clever. His name was Eadric and he was terribly shy of me at first, almost too timid to bite out two words though he was, I found out later, naturally quite an irrepressible youth. That first morning I was sullen and angry and I had to force out my thanks though clenched teeth when he brought my horse around from the stables.

It was only the two of us. When I'd asked—begged— Amrothos to join me he'd only laughed.

"It was you who raised expectations for yourself by making those maps. You might regret that decision till the end of your days, but I don't intend to find out exactly how much by accompanying you through misery."

But he was wrong about the misery. Even before we stopped to eat the noon meal, Eadric and I had made fast friends.

I suppose it was a bit of good luck, though it didn't seem like it at the time. The first grain barn we went to was almost completely empty. I pushed open the doors and stormed in, muttering curses and complaints under my breath in Westron but also in an unmistakable tone of frustration. He trailed behind me, eyes wide and nervous as I stomped around through the empty pallets and mostly rotted bags. Perhaps I should have known better. I trod on one bag and a rat – black, filthy, mangy and the size of a nearly-grown cat – shot out, squeaking his dismay. I screamed, lost my footing, stumbled as I jumped back in surprise and toppled to the ground. Scrambling up to my feet I jumped up onto the nearest pallet, brushing manically at my clothes even though the thing had run in completely the opposite direction.

Eadric, being thirteen and male, let out a whoop of joy and charged after the rat, snatching up a splintered piece of wood from the ground as he went, and smashing it down on the fleeing vermin over and over. His fear of me forgotten he grabbed the carcass by the long, naked tail and came trotting back to me with it as proudly as any dog. I screamed in renewed disgust and danced away from him as far as I could without leaving the elevated grounds of the pallet, still instinctively unwilling to let my feet touch the ground where more rats might be lurking. "Stop! Stop! Take it outside at once!" I commanded, but already I was laughing so hard I was close to tears even as I tried to squirm away from the prize he brandished at me.

He grinned, and for a second I saw as clear as day that it had crossed his wicked little mind to toss the thing at me. But he recovered himself quickly and took it outside as I had commanded, laughing as well as he went. "Don't worry, lady," he said when he returned, changing as quick as thinking from devious little boy into solemn, adolescent protector. "Stay where you are and I'll see if there are any more."

I giggled at his exaggeratedly manly demeanor. "I shall stay here until you think it is safe for me to venture out again."

After that first morning I borrowed a ratting dog from the keep but Eadric still insisted that he walk around all the cellars and barns before I entered, double checking the mutt's work. As I said he was quite bright and I taught him how to tally up the various things we needed to keep track of using a stick to scratch marks in the dirt, a trick he was obnoxiously proud of mastering and I suspect made him quite insufferably lordly with the other stable boys. Being of that special age when respect and a sense of propriety are just as incomprehensible as things like rank and nobility, he reciprocated by trying to teach me a surprisingly effective method for spitting quite a distance and how to extinguish a candle by licking my thumb and forefinger and then pinching the wick quick as lightening, plus a variety of other surprising talents. I deigned to learn the candle trick but couldn't be persuaded to spit, even when only he was watching.

Gænwyn had been right of course. After the first day I'd spent riding and running about with Eadric, I found to my surprise that I felt somehow more rested than I had after the days of inactivity. Well, perhaps not rested but certainly revitalized. I came to the table that night full of the chatter of what I had seen and done that day and she was good enough to refrain, even with a smug expression, from reminding me that I had tried to refuse.

And so two weeks passed quite happily. Once I had found how well activity worked as a medicine for melancholy I threw myself into it. I oversaw the reconstruction of the roofs of the barns that needed repair. I consolidated the few remaining stores and tallied up the sum total of every scrap of food in every cellar in the keep. Amrothos rode out with me once or twice but he took no joy in it and mostly he spent his days rereading the few books we had brought with us and trying to seduce the maids, a more difficult challenge than usual considering not a word could be exchanged between them.

However, I intended to keep busy and started to plan the repair of a small road that led to one of the barns. Lying on my bed one afternoon, going over the sums I had worked out, I heard riders coming through the gate. Thinking it Gænwyn I swung my feet to the floor, slipped on a pair of shoes and ran down to meet her. I had found some forgotten bottles of wine in an abandoned cellar that day and I wanted to tell her right away. As a guest I couldn't openly ask her to open one that night so that I could try what the steward had told me was a very good vintage, thought to be gone ten years passed, but I fully intended to hint to the absolute limit of courtesy.

I was running full speed when I reached the steps leading down from the main door, a grin spreading over my face at the thought of how happy she would be at my discovery, but my feet and expression froze when I saw the man at the head of the group of riders.

I could close my eyes and see his face perfectly in my mind's eye, every detail mapped out and etched indelibly, and yet somehow the physical reality was enough to strike me still. His skin was much darker than I remembered — an unfashionable, glorious bronze – and his hair was exactly the color of the sun that had lightened it from its usual darker hue. He must have been riding often and working hard. Surely he had muscles in places I didn't remember them! But it was the glory of his movement that made my memory such a pale comparison. He was grinning, looking almost over his shoulders at something one of his rider's had said, and my heart beat so hard against my chest it was physically painful. If I could have managed it I would have run back into the keep. But coherent thought, much less physical movement, was beyond me. I stood, frozen in place, immovable as a troll in the dawn light.

In slow motion it seemed to me, he turned his head and, just as I had somehow found his face instantly in the crowd of riders, his gaze was drawn to me as surely as if I had screamed out his name. For a moment his expression of easy, companionable joy rested on his features— the light, playful smile grew fractionally bigger—but then recognition turned into remembrance and he too seemed to turn to stone. His face grew grim and a paleness crept under his tan, jaw line becoming rigid and fixed. Firefoot, sensing his riders discomfort, stopped dead so quickly that the horses behind him had to move to either side to avoid crashing into him. Éomer looked down and quieted his mount with a quick soothing motion of hand over neck.

I was so mesmerized by the sight of him that Erchirion seemed to come out of the clear blue sky. I hadn't even noticed my brother until he bounded up the steps with a shout of, "Lothi!" and swept me up into a crushing embrace.

I was glad to let the breath I'd been holding be forced out of me in a rush. It was a mercy as well that he swung me joyously around a few times before setting me back on the ground. I wasn't fool enough to believe it myself but perhaps someone else might mistake my dizziness as being caused by his enthusiastic greeting.

"Lothi! What in the name of Valar are you doing here? I thought you were back in Minas Tirith you wicked girl. You never said you were coming to Rohan again! And you didn't even pass by Edoras to say hello!"

"It was something of a last minute decision to call on Gænwyn. I was poor-mannered enough to call on her without even bothering to forewarn her that I was bringing Amrothos too. She hasn't complained once though, so don't think you have any claim to chastise me when she has not. I was planning to write and I wouldn't have left without saying goodbye." I heard myself say all this above a roaring noise in my ears.

"Amrothos? Is he here as well?" He frowned.

I nodded.

I kept my eyes locked on my brother but I knew, as I would have known if some unattached piece of my own body approached, that Éomer was coming up the steps after Erchirion. I was suddenly acutely aware that I hadn't bathed or changed for dinner. I was dressed in a simple, short-sleeved, cotton gown dyed a pale blue and still smelling of musty cellars and horses and year-old wheat chaff. I had on no jewelry, no perfume, no womanly protection of any kind that might have prepared me for this moment. Numbly I smoothed down the wrinkled dress and curtseyed to him, forcing myself to meet his impassive gaze.

I held out one hand and he bowed, kissing it. The shock of contact of his soft lips and rough beard on the back of my hand made my jaw clench painfully. "Well met, my lady."

"Hail, my lord."

For a long, uncomfortable moment, nothing was said. Finally, Erchirion said, rather too loudly, "Is Lady Gænwyn in?"

"No. She's gone out to survey some of the fields but she should be back fairly soon. I thought you were she when I heard you ride in."

"I hope we won't put her out too much. We meant to stay the night at Underharrow but the inns didn't have room for all of us so we thought the few of us who were extra would push on and impose on her hospitality for the night."

How very like Éomer to consent to the extra leg of the journey instead of taking one of the rooms himself.

"As I said, I arrived without word either and she seemed glad enough to see me. I'm sure she will be happy to accommodate you. I'll just go and forewarn the cooks of the extra seats to set at the table, shall I?"

Never was a more obvious retreat beaten. I almost fled up the stairs and when I reached the solitude of the hall I threw myself against the wall, heart beating wildly, chest heaving. You've seen him now and it hasn't unmade you, I thought desperately, the worst is surely over. If you can bear the sight of him with no preparation, with no defenses carefully prepared, surely nothing can be worse than that.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop me a line! Let me know what you think! And love to Lady Bluejay for beta reading! XO Spake


	15. Chapter 15

I dressed with exquisite care before coming down to dinner that night. Not for Éomer's sake, but for my own. Being in his presence made me feel like I was in slightly too hot bath water I couldn't escape. It made me want to writhe when I thought of what he might think of me, of how he might judge me. And the only cure I had ever found for the feeling of being judged was impeccable grooming.

I hadn't brought many fine gowns with me but I choose the nicest: a sleeveless emerald green frock with delicate silver stitching along the scoop-necked bodice and edges. With it I wore simple silver slippers and, though I had no maid to fix my hair and couldn't manage anything more than a simple braid, I accented it with a silver comb. I dabbed perfume on my wrists and neck and studied myself for a long moment in the mirror. My complexion was somewhat darker than was fashionable but there was no helping that, and on the whole I judged myself to look presentable.

"I see you've got your battle armor on." Amrothos leaned against the frame of the door, looking quite meticulously groomed himself in a black tunic and fashionable leggings.

I smiled softly. "You also look well tonight, Brother."

"I assume you haven't told your lover the truth about why you spurned his advances. I ask only because I wish to know if I can expect a tedious scene at the table tonight... if so, perhaps I should return to my chamber for my sword?"

"No, I haven't told him the truth. Though I suppose dinner will be quite tedious at any rate. We can't expect a merry table with my... spurned lover at it, now can we?"

"Well so far I've been pleasantly surprised at the companion Gænwyn makes, despite her incomprehensible Westron. I have high hopes for this evening, I confess it freely."

"You've never confessed anything freely in your life. And you complain endlessly about her Westron, despite the fact that she is a dear friend of mine and our host, my ungracious kin."

"And you never let even the most innocent lie alone, so I might think twice about tossing words like 'ungracious' around if I were in your well-coiffed skull."

"Oh, what a ghastly thought. If you were in my skull I'd think twice about just about everything."

"And you would be well advised to do so. But honestly, Lothi, if the evening is simply going to be some melodrama fit for the peasant class with the five of us in starring roles, I would just as soon have my dinner brought to me in my chambers."

I frowned. Not once in his life had Amrothos expressed displeasure at a scandal, particularly not one of which he would have such a prime view. Perhaps it was fear of Éomer, who would certainly thrash him in a duel if he were ever to demand satisfaction. Perhaps it was fear of what my father might do if the news were ever to get back to him. But he had never been one to fear material retribution much. He'd been beaten in duels before; my father had lectured, berated and reduced his means several times. One of the things that had made him such a formidable force in the court was that there was little punishment he truly feared. No...this was something quite altogether different.

I was one of the few people that evoked any sort of sympathetic emotion from him and he'd never hurt me before, rarely ever spoke unkindly to me in any real sense when I thought about it. Was it possible he didn't want to go to a table because he didn't want to watch me suffer?

I suddenly found it difficult to swallow.

"Gænwyn's table is hardly the place, and tonight is hardly the night, to try to being to explain myself. I will endeavor to play my part as the lovelorn, repentant seductress with a minimum of lingering looks and long-suffering sighs. And I'm quite sure that Éomer will hardly bother to look at me. We are saved at least from the lowest forms of drama."

"Long may you both be praised for it."

We were the last to arrive at table. The men both stood as I entered and Eadric pulled my chair out for me. We sat as one. Gænwyn raised an eyebrow just ever so subtly at my gown. Not once since I had arrived had I dressed in anything more than a fresh, simple gown for dinner. She herself had dressed slightly better than usual— her King was at table— but the transformation was remarkably less clear than my own.

"Take a glass of this wine," was all she said however. "The steward told me that you found the stuff, so surely you deserve at least a swallow before the food arrives and we polish it off."

"Yes please."

She poured me and Amrothos both generous portions and I took a sip. It was just as a wine should be: tart without being bitter, and so dry it seemed almost to encourage thirst rather than quench it. "Oh that's quite good!" I exclaimed at her prompting look. "You say this came from your own vineyard? I congratulate you!"

She looked pleased. "Not every year is as good as this but it's a rare season we can't put away something that's at least drinkable."

"You say Lothíriel found this wine?" Erchirion asked.

"She did indeed. She's been helping me out by doing a much needed inventory of my cellars and barns, getting them ready for what I hope to be an unprecedented crop of grain." She raised her glass as she spoke that last, making the words a toast.

We all drank deeply tothem, Amrothos a second behind because she was speaking Rohirric.

"I really haven't been doing much more than making a nuisance of myself climbing all through the steward's business." I said when we'd put our glasses down.

She shook her head. "That's not true at all. I'm more than grateful to have someone who can do sums totting them up for me. And so is the steward I'll have you know."

I blushed. "I want to hear more about what you've been up to, Erchirion and about how the harvest goes in the rest of Rohan."

The news was good. I had suspected it might be given how well Gænwyn's lands were doing but it could have been an isolated occurrence. I was pleased to learn it wasn't. As the harvest drew nearer and the grain grew taller, people were beginning to whisper furtively, so as not to call bad luck down, that this would be a harvest like none that had been seen in a century. Rohan would be able to pay Gondor back easily, keep enough to last them through the next winter and still have some left over to sell. It wouldn't wipe out the effects of the war entirely of course but it would certainly be a step on the road to recovery.

I listened with rapped attention as Erchirion described the fields bursting with wheat stalks so laden with seeds they bent even in still air, and the tense, expectant joy of the people. I thought back to all the exhaustion and hard lines on faces I'd seen on my own rangeing and realized, with fresh fury, that Harra had stolen something else from me: the chance to ride back over that same country and see it transformed. It would have been such a gloriously different experience than the hard, harsh, winter rangeings and, rashly, the desire to ask to go with them when they left Dunharrow rose up in me.

I felt a gaze on me like a brand and glanced up at Éomer, to find him staring at me with a strange, piercing look. He jerked his gaze away from me quickly, a flush rising his cheeks. I wondered what he had seen on my face.

I took a sip of my wine to cover the flush in my own face. I wanted to say how much I would have liked to see what he was describing with my own eyes but I was afraid to beg the question why I hadn't. I didn't think anyone at the table would ask but it could bring nothing but an awkward silence. Instead I said simply, "It must be gratifying to see your work come to such fruition."

"I must say it is. It's ridiculous of course for me to take credit for fine gentle rains and an early spring but I find I cannot help myself."

Gænwyn waved him off. "It is not ridiculous. Good rains and a short winter would have meant nothing if we hadn't had enough grain to plant our fields."

Erchirion almost blushed, but looked pleased. "For that you will have to thank my father and King Ele..."

Éomer broke in, smiling. "In the Mark it isn't good manners to contradict your host, Erchirion, particularly not when she speaks so wisely."

"If I ever meet your father, Lothíriel," Gænwyn said to me with a little wink, "I shall ask him why he never taught any of his children to accept a compliment."

After dinner Gænwyn announced that she was walking down to the village. There had been a marriage that afternoon and, as was her habit, she was going to the celebration to bestow some small gifts on the bridge and groom and congratulate them on the happy occasion. She invited us all to accompany her and even Amrothos consented when he realized that he would be left alone otherwise.

The single tavern in the village was awash with light and the noise of laughter and chatter and even a few musicians picking out a lively jig in one corner for the lads and maidens to dance to. Again I was surprised with how comfortable the Rohirrim were in the presence of their King. Both he and Gænwyn made speeches, both speaking at length about the hopeful prospects of the harvest and the rebirth of the nation and drawing roaring approval from the crowd. But once they were finished and Gænwyn had given her gifts, we were led to a small private table in one corner and were mostly left alone as the revelers returned to their merriment. Except for one particularly forward, particularly fetching maiden who asked Éomer for a dance.

For the first time since we had met on the steps I allowed myself to really look at him as he swung her around by her waist and lifted her up in time with the music. Again I was struck with how poor a substitute his memory had been for the vibrant, living man himself. I had forgotten the leonine elegance of him, how the set of his jaw softened when he smiled, the way his broad chest expanded when he breathed and uncountable thousands of other details that all came rushing back as I watched.

But my pleasure at the sight of him was mixed in with something painful. It was such an unfamiliar emotion to me that it took me a moment to name the discomfort I felt. Jealousy. It was a bodice cinched too tightly across my chest, making every breath a struggle. The girl was only a farmer's daughter, not someone he could make his queen, but she was making it clear that she would come to his bed that night if he asked. And for all my lineage, my fine dresses and education, I hadn't managed to steal even a kiss. Imagining them together—blond hair tangled on the pillow, long, muscled legs twined together— made me feel like I was suffocating even as some organ, unmentioned in any of my anatomy books, throbbed deliciously below my stomach. Heat spread across my skin, equal parts misery and longing.

With inconceivable effort I tore my eyes from them, and turned my attention back to the conversation at the table. Gænwyn was pumping Erchirion for information about his wedding plans.

"Her family has been absolutely charming, more than happy to defer to the Gondorian tradition of holding the wedding at the bride's home. We had initially imagined something quite small but King Elessar has hinted that he might come, so now Éomer has asked if we would mind folding it into the Harvest Festival at Edoras, which means of course that it has to be rather more grand." He sighed. "May she be blessed; Lithoer is being quite understanding about her marriage being turned into an occasion for diplomacy."

Gænwyn smiled. "You may have imagined something small but I doubt Lithoer ever thought marrying a son of the Prince of Dol Amroth at the height of this frenzy to renew our bonds would be a private experience."

"I suppose not... though I'm only a second son, hardly the heir."

"But you are a hero in Rohan. People know your name here and they know what you did to help us as well. And now you're marrying one of us. It's understandable that we want to celebrate... even if it's at the expense of your wishes," she added with a laugh.

He blushed. "I hadn't meant to sound so ungrateful! I was only thinking of the inconvenience to Lithoer..."

She held up a hand. "And so you aren't... it's not in your blood to be ungrateful."

Amrothos quirked a grin at me from across the table and stood abruptly. "I'm going to get another pint. Accompany me will you, Lothíriel? Else I'm sure to be reduced to hand gestures before I can make myself understood."

I rose to my feet as well and we crossed the tavern to the bar, weaving in and out of the crowd and skirting the dance floor. I placed his order for him and while we waited for the barkeep to fetch it, he considered me.

"Your lover isn't quite what I was expecting."

"Oh? In what way?"

"I wondered for months what drew you to him, what about him could have possibly interested you. He is exactly as he should be—stern, noble, quite obsessed with horses and land and honor... all those passing trifles. And yet somehow he has won your love despite all those disadvantages."

I laughed. It made sense that Amrothos would see it that way; that Éomer had conquered me somehow. I could only wish it were so simple. "Yes, he is isn't he?" I mused. "Exactly as he should be."

The dance was ending as we walked back to the table and we crossed paths with Éomer and his pretty partner. She gave us a shy smile and bobbed a curtsey which I acknowledged with only the exact measure of courtesy. His face, flushed with exertion, hardened slightly at the sight of me and my heart throbbed painfully.

"You dance uncommonly well," I said to the girl.

"Good of you to say, Mi'lady."

There was an uncomfortable silence. We stood together, an odder quartet never conceived, unsure of what to say or do next. Amrothos finally said, "Lothíriel has just been helping me find myself some more mead, Lord Éomer and I declare that it has a distinctly different taste from the ale I am used to. Quite sweet in fact. I wonder whatever I shall do when I return to Gondor and am deprived of it."

He spoke as he always did to our father— choosing his words for elegance rather than content and accompanying them with a small smile that was imperceptibly mocking even as it was overtly sycophantic.

"I am gratified it is to your taste. It is brewed with honey which accounts for the sweetness."

"And the dancing is charming as well, quite different from what we do at home. Lothíriel did you ever learn to dance in the Rohirric fashion while you were here last?"

My jaw clenched, seeing his aim. "Not at all well," I said shortly.

"Oh I am sure you are too modest. I shall have to search high and low for a proper partner for you. I'm sure Erchirion would never do however, he lacks your natural grace."

As he had done the first night I'd met Éomer (Valar it felt like an age of the earth had passed since), Amrothos was forcing him to ask me to dance. As our host, in country if not in keep, he could hardly refuse so blatant a hint without giving grave insult to manners. For a second I wondered if he would anyway.

He looked at my brother for a long moment, taking in the mocking smile, the slight challenge obscured but still visible in his eyes, and then clenched his fists. "I should be most obliged if I might offer my services in that regard. Lady Lothíriel will you do me the honor of the next dance?"

The list of things I wanted more in the world than to dance with him was incredibly short and mostly involved him in one way or another anyway. But if he wouldn't take me in his arms voluntarily, I didn't want to manipulate him to do it anyway.

I had begun to love him unselfishly. I had always desired him as one might covet a possession. His wit amused me, his passion inspired me, his body inflamed me, his temper provoked me and I had even glimpsed in him something more fundamentally... not similar but harmonious in him to the deeper rhythms of my own mind and spirit. All of this had woken in me, for the first time, an unfamiliar longing both to posses and be possessed by him. And that part of me screamed out to show the girl still at his elbow that I could move together with him just as well as she could.

But now he had added another novel emotion. For his own sake, I wished his happiness.

I smiled wanly. "Nothing would give me more pleasure but I find that I'm quite worn out. You would quite have to carry me around the dance floor and I wouldn't want to burden you so. Not after such a long ride."

He bowed shortly and we returned to our table.

Amrothos and I walked home together that night, trailing the group far enough to be out of earshot when we used hushed tones.

"You aren't going to tell him at all are you?" he said when we had left the outskirts of the village and had begun making our way up the winding path to the keep.

The truth was I didn't know if I would tell him. I had never wanted anything as much as I wanted him and everything in my selfish nature screamed out for me to do everything I could to bring him back to me. But cowardice held me back.

What I would have to do—lay open my emotions, reveal my plot and how I had been manipulated, expose my double weakness to him and then ask him to forgive me—went against every carefully cultivated instinct I had.

And what reason did I have to think I would be successful in my plea?

By necessity he would marry soon and I was sure that he would choose well. Once he was bound by honor to some noble, vibrant woman, once he had fathered a few strong sons, would he think any more of me than he did any of his numerous brushes with death on the battlefield? Perhaps he would look back on that morning and thank Bema that he had been spared the fate of being my husband. In his mind I would become a snake he had chanced across in the road which had sunk its fangs into his flesh, but whose bite hadn't proved lethal.

I forced myself to smile, though I'm sure it was a pained expression. "I doubt he would believe me."

"Why wouldn't he?"

I sighed. "There are a million reasons I could have changed my mind. If I had decided that I did want to be Queen of Rohan after all, if father had found out and insisted I accept him, if I had fallen out of favor in the court... all of those would be reasons that I would come crawling back to him. He's…well…he's a very proud man. He would disdain me all the more if he thought I would accept him out of necessity or need."

"You think he wouldn't believe you?"

"Why should he? He knew my reputation and he disregarded it once but he saw what he got for his trouble. What's the expression...'once bitten, twice shy?'"

"Shy is an interesting adjective for him."

"You know what I mean. He's no fool and he builds his regard slowly enough with people he hasn't any reason at all to distrust." Besides, I added privately, I've seen his anger and it's enough to unmake a mountain. "To regain his good opinion once it has been lost I'm afraid would be beyond me. To try and to fail would simply prolong both our suffering... and I don't wish that for either of us."

His brow twisted slightly. "Based on what you did I assumed you had some trick in mind to win him back... Some sort of proof of what I made you do."

My laugh was mirthless. "He isn't some courtier I can trick into thinking what I want him to. And what proof could I have except my misery, which he's already seen?"

"Has he seen your misery? You let your love for him show but pain is something you have quite a bit more practice hiding. And you don't have the knack for the high drama of anguish anyway. You're much too proud for it."

"Perhaps I am," I agreed wistfully.

We were silent then until we had passed through the gates. As we did, hurrying slightly to catch up with the group he mumbled, "And so much the better for me, I suppose. If you continue to languish away in silence I need never atone for my actions."

The next morning I knew before I'd opened my eyes that something was wrong. There was a sick, queasy feeling in my stomach and my head felt as if it had been stuffed with wool. The tenor of the keep had changed somehow. The normal bustle of breakfast being cooked, stables being mucked and rooms being cleaned was replaced by more intense, chaotic noises.

My feet hit the cold stone floor and I was splashing water on my face, pulling on the first, wrinkled gown from my closet before I'd had time to think. I pushed my feet into slippers and ran down to the main hall. It was deserted but there were the remnants of a hasty, cold meal. The next place to look was obvious. My feet had turned towards the stables without pause.

The noise of the stables, ever a busy place in a Rohirric keep, was abundant. Not a confusion of sound however. The men moved with purpose in a familiar, if rushed, routine. Amrothos, standing at the far end of the stables, was conspicuous because, as well as his mop of black hair, he was the only calm spot in the storm of preparations. Next to him Erchirion saddled his own horse, looking grim and not speaking much with our brother.

I searched for another man in the crowd for a moment but I knew before I started there was no need to search hard. Even in the thick of his men, all as tall and blond as he was, he stood out to me like the moon in a background of stars.

I crossed to my brothers and put a hand on Erchirion's shoulder. "Trouble?"

"Word came in the night that the Wildmen have come back to the Westfold."

"You ride out as well?"  
"With every available man or boy. Éomer intends to crush them."  
My eyes flicked to Amrothos and he met them evenly. Not every available man, but I doubted it had crossed anyone's mind to even ask him. It stretched the limits of grace for Erchirion to go. If he was slain in battle my father would understand but the debt it would put on Éomer to him would be enormous. I wondered if he hadn't had to beg to be allowed.

I fell silent after that as well. Amrothos and I watched our brother carefully and quickly prepare his gear as if under a spell. I felt the pressure of an internal and external turmoil without cause or release. I wasn't riding into battle but my heart beat as quickly as it might have if I'd been the prey in a long hunt. My head ached with a kind of dizzy anticipation that made sitting still an agony. But there was no action to be taken.

When I looked up there was a man standing squarely in front of me. No...not yet quite a man. Eadric stood in a boiled leather tunic and riding breaches, a cheap blade slung at his hip and a shabby helm cocked on his hip at an affected, jaunty angle. It was such a ludicrous impersonation of a hero from a song it almost made me laugh. He was beaming with joy.

"I've come to say goodbye, Lady Lothíriel," he said, trying for solemnity but unable to keep the excitement from his voice. "I'm riding out."

My eyes widened. "You're riding out? To the Westfold?"

He nodded. "I am going to do battle."

"But you're not yet sixteen!"

He frowned at my tone. "My lady, in times such as these a boy must grow up rather faster than that. I've been practicing with a sword since I was eight and I assure you I will do myself credit."

I rubbed a hand over my face, suddenly feeling exhausted. Of course there were no older boys to go. So many of the grown men had been slain or maimed in the Ring War that Eadric would, by necessity, be considered fit to do battle even before he'd reached sixteen, the traditional age of manhood. "Forgive me, Eadric, I forget myself. I am sure you will acquit yourself admirably."

He considered my slight for a second and then remembered his joy. "Of course one must not expect a lady to understand such things. But I've come to ask you for a favor to wear into battle."

I swallowed back the rising lump in my throat. "Of course, Eadric. Let me go to the keep and fetch you one of my handkerchiefs."

He bowed, and I stood. "I'll be back in a moment, Erchirion."

He smiled at me and tossed his head slightly at Eadric. "Oh take your time. I'm sure the party won't leave before this strapping young lad get's his token of your affection."

I didn't go to my rooms right away. I walked down through the length of the stables as if to exit by the path that led down to the gate and then circle back up to the keep. As I passed each stall door I peered in. Éomer was in the second to last, putting the last touches to Firefoot's tack and speaking with Gænwyn's steward. I let out the breath I'd been holding. It was a relief to see him but I had to force myself to step inside the stall.

They were discussing the supplies that were being made ready for the men to ride out with and I waited quietly until they finished. For a long moment after the steward had left Éomer simply looked at me without saying anything.

Though he looked none the worse for drink or the late night, his face was drawn with strain in the pale morning light. He was worried that he wouldn't arrive in time with reinforcements. He was mad to be in the thick of the battle that waited for him. And, though it made my jaw clench with furious fear to imagine him in such danger, it also made something in me throb with pride and love for him. It made no sense for me to be proud of his bravery. He had been brave long before I'd known him and I had no claim on him anyway. But as Erchirion had felt for the good harvest, so I felt for his goodness.

Finally he said, very quietly. "What are you doing here?"

I swallowed. Ever my easiest defense, I answered blithely, "You can't imagine the clatter you're making this morning. If there aren't a few people in Edoras riding up to see what the fuss is about, I will declare myself surprised.

"Don't play the idiot. It doesn't suit you."

I swallowed again. "I hardly know how to answer you."

"Try."

I glanced nervously at the door. "My lord..." I began.

With a noise of frustration he stepped passed me and closed the door of the stall. It was a violation of propriety and brought him rather closer to me than was polite but I didn't protest. I didn't speak, staring up at him with what I was sure was evident fear. He was so close I could smell him (oh how had I forgotten his smell?) and it made me want to lean against the wall to support myself.

"Why did you come back to Rohan?"

I shook my head defiantly. "I had no way of knowing that you would be coming to visit Gænwyn... I only wished to see her again. I didn't wish to cause you pain, my lord, truly I didn't."

He gave a little snort of derisive laughter.

"You have asked and I have answered as honestly as I am capable. I cannot make you believe me," I said sharply.

He didn't seem to notice my insolent tone. The stiff mask of fury seemed to lose it's hold slightly too and he ran a hand over his face, suddenly contorted with an emotion far more painful for me to see there. "As honestly as you are capable," he echoed. "And perhaps that at least is true."

"Can we not at least be cordial with each other?"

His jaw clenched, but he stepped back from where he had been looming over me. "Forgive me... of course, my lady. I forget myself." My hand twitched involuntarily towards him, to pull him back towards me. I forced myself to pull it back scant inches before I touched him. That wouldn't be fair.

He sighed. "Whatever was said between us I still owe you respect."

"Because of my father? My brother? Éomer that's no reason to..."

"Because you are a lady and a guest in my lands."

"It's not formal courtesy that I want from you."

Now his hands at his sides clenched as well as if the tension in his body was beyond his capacity to contain. "If you mean to ask for forgiveness... I will not make myself say words which do not correspond to... I will not make a liar of myself and a dupe of you. Would that it were different but forgiveness is beyond me."

My throat tightened. I had always loved the uncompromising part of him, flaw though it was. Harra would have found it silly, a weakness all too easy to exploit. But even now that it was turned on me it made my heart beat a little faster. How had he ever fallen in love with me? How, even for a second, had he judged me worthy of him? And how had I allowed myself to be coerced into hurting him so badly? I wanted to run into his arms and lean against his chest. But I couldn't scheme this away, and neither could he fight his way out. So we stood, separated by such an insignificant space—crossed between two breaths or two hammering heartbeats if it could be dared—and unable to reach each other.

"I don't mean to ask for forgiveness." I would have begged if I'd thought it would have done me any good.

"If you are offering pity of any..."

"I have never pitied anyone in my life. I'm hardly likely to start with you." I took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. If I didn't ask and Eadric was killed in battle, I would never sleep soundly again. "I've come to ask you not to take Eadric, one of Gænwyn's stable hands with you."

"Why?"

"He's not yet fourteen and he has been particularly helpful to me these past weeks with my work here. I would be sorry to see him go."

"You wish to keep him from harm?"

"I know I have no right to ask you a favor but..."

He was already shaking his head. "He isn't a damn pet, Lothíriel. He's a man grown, or will be once he's ridden into battle. And I cannot spare any riders for your whim."

I blushed. "I understand. I hadn't meant to add to your burdens this morning, I just..."

The sharp, piercing look in his eyes stopped me. "How can you be the same woman?"

His words, though spoken almost without inflection, stopped me dead. "What do you mean?"

"From your own lips I've heard you claim to love my country only a little. And yet here you are back in it as if you had never left, dashing about Gænwyn's Valar-cursed keep as if you hadn't a sense of propriety. How can a man reconcile the two women who seem to share your skin? My sister writes almost weekly from Minas Tirith to tell me some fresh tale of the lives you destroyed when you lived there. And this morning you come to me to beg me not to take a boy into battle because you've grown fond of him as if you were the most tenderhearted maiden."

Most of my consciousness demanded that I push him away from me with some insult. He was in through the wit and indifference I used as defenses: an intruder in my innermost keep. Only a small voice insisted, if you fail to tell him here how you feel for him you will die a coward's death every day of the rest of your life. The agony of indecision crushed breath from me.

His eyes were almost gray in the dawn light and he looked down at me as one might look at the shaft of an arrow protruding from ones chest. "Which is your true self?"

I could have more easily swallowed ground glass but I forced myself to speak in pained but precise words. "The mistake you've always made when it comes to me Éomer is assuming that I'm more complicated than I am. There is only one of me and you've seen her through and through. You have seen how... how I feel about you and you know my past. Can you imagine that something in Middle- earth might have convinced me to be dishonest to you when you asked for my hand in marriage, even if I wanted to accept?" I swallowed. "Desperately."

"Are you saying that you wanted to be my wife?" His mouth was a hard line.

"Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"Answer the damn question, Lothíriel!"

"I did... I do."

"And you were coerced into refusing me?"

"I was."

"By who?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes! Of course it matters!" I looked away from him and he let out a long breath through clenched teeth. "I suppose I'm meant to simply accept your story without question then." When I said nothing he swore loudly.

Something hot and salty, a wineskin of unspilled tears but warmed by something entirely unlike sorrow, seemed to burst open in my chest without warning. Of its own volition it seemed to me that my body turned to his as naturally as a fire turns into the wind. My hand found itself grasping a handful of the tunic over his hip and just as suddenly his hand had grasped my upper arm and pulled me roughly towards him, as if for a kiss. He glared down at me. "Bema, Woman! Why cannot you simply speak truth like a decent creature?"

I tilted my chin forward, defiantly.

"No one here has ever accused me of being a decent creature, Éomer." My voice was rough and low. "But I am trying to do the right thing for everyone involved here."

The look of mixed fury and desire might have sent me running if I hadn't been so happy to see anything other than stony indifference on his features. "How..." he began.

But just then the stall door opened and a rider stepped in. "Oh! My lord I apologize..." he stuttered. It might have been difficult to tell if we were about to kiss or strike each other, even from my vantage point, but the scene we had made must have been vivid.

Éomer released my arm and stepped back very slowly, not taking his eyes from mine. "No need, Elfhelm," he said firmly. "The lady was just leaving."

My legs shook only a little as I dropped a curtsey. "Safe travels, my lord."

He caught my arm as I stepped towards the door but I didn't turn towards him, unable to tolerate the sight of him. "In three weeks your brother and I will needs return to Edoras for his wedding, whether this conflict is resolved or not. I will take Eadric as my squire when I return. I expect you to be in a... forthcoming mood, Lothíriel."

At his words the roaring noise in my ears that had been there since I had woken up (or perhaps since I had found Amrothos in my chambers after Beltane) seemed to quiet at his words. I glanced at him cautiously and he rewarded me with a small smile which I returned with one of my own. I almost didn't dare speak for fear of breaking some delicate balance. "Shall I save you a dance at the wedding?"

"I think you had better."

"I look forward to it."

I knew that it wasn't possible that I physically was breathing easier as I walked out of the stables and to the keep and then allowed myself to run in a frenzy of joy and relief to my rooms. Already three weeks seemed like an impossibly long time to wait. But the promise of a talk, the small sliver of hope he had offered me, was glowing inside me like half a bottle of the best wine I'd ever tasted in the light of a sunrise more glorious than I had ever seen. I tossed through my trunks for my finest handkerchief and then dashed back down to the stables. Erchirion and Eadric were right where I had left them but Amrothos was nowhere to be seen.

I pressed the handkerchief into Eadric's hands with an enormous grin. "May it bring you luck when you need it and then safe back to me," I spoke the traditional words and pressed a kiss to his brow.

I wondered as I did for how much longer I would even be able to reach his forehead if I wanted to bless his ride into battle without his bending down to allow it. It had never seemed strange to me that he was shorter than myself until that exact moment.

"Thank you, my lady."

Erchirion came forward then and I kissed him as well. "Come back to me, Brother. And come back to Lithoer as well."

He grinned. "I will see you in a few weeks sister. If not before."

"I love you."

He seemed surprised at my words. I hadn't said them to him since the morning that I had refused Éomer. But he only smiled and drew me into a tender hug that I returned tightly. "I love you too, Sister."

It was only a few moments later that the men were ready to ride out. I went out to mount the steps for a better view of the column. Gænwyn was already there, looking a little out of breath and with some strands of hair slipping out of her braid. I could imagine her duties had been extensive that morning. Her smile as I mounted the stairs was a little sad. "It never gets easier to watch them leave."

Amrothos joined us shortly after that and we stood together on the steps watching as Éomer rode the length of the line once and then led the way out of the gate. As he passed through it he raised his horn to his lips and began to blow and almost as if in answer a sudden wind picked up, blowing out the cloaks of the riders and making me shiver on the steps. Or was I shivering from the clear, silver sound of the horn ringing off the high mountain passes? Or the thought of the man at the front of the column and how he smelled like horses and sun-baked leather and spruce trees broken as he made camp?

I watched until the last rider had passed through the gate. And only did then it occur to me to wonder where Amrothos had been when I had walked back to the keep.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! And check out my other story Lothiriel Awakens! And big thanks to Lady Bluejay for editing this! She's my hero! XO Spake


	16. Chapter 16

Dear Éomer,

Today I'm angry with you.

As much as I have pondered over our last conversation in the intervening weeks it has taken me until today to realize that you are completely at fault for the way we left things. You must be!

Until I met you I was proud of my ability with words. For any thought that crossed my mind I could find just the right way of expressing it. More than that, in my prime, I could reduce a lady to tears in two sharp sentences and a lord to silence with a look. How did you steal that from me? With what spell did you bind me? I have never in my life been silent when I wanted to speak.

And I wanted to tell you so many things that morning:

I hate that you're so brave. If I could make you too timid to ride into battle, I would. I don't care what you think. Anything that would have you here with me, safe, and not somewhere on some battlefield maybe with your head bashed in or an arrow in your chest, I would do.

The way I want you is gloriously undignified and I resent you for it. If you claim to be a gentleman how can you awake such animal want in me? How can you, with a look or, worse still, a hand on my waist or the simplest caress, make me feel that all sensation before was a shadow and a shade? How can you do that to me?

I don't think I will ever understand your goodness. I admit that it is like tonic to my own bitter meanness and that I long to drink it in by the flagon, the jug and barrelful but I'm afraid it will always remain foreign to me. What is it in you that makes you…

The words of that last letter were still in my mind, but Éomer would never read what I had to say for I had crumpled it up and thrown it into the fire. There it had joined countless others of its kind, destroyed as quickly as they were written over the past two weeks. Trying to decide if I should I try one more missive, I jumped as a voice broke into my deliberations.

"Sorry what was that?" I hastily gave Gænwyn my attention.

We sat, Lithoer, Gænwyn, some of their friends from Edoras, and I, around a neat pile of clothes. Two weeks ago it had been little more than a heap of fine cloth. But in the intervening time we had sown, embroidered and embellished it into Lithoer's troth. There were maybe twenty of us in the room. Most of the women were laughing and chattering on as they worked but I sat off to the side slightly, in a window seat that offered a clear view of the Eastern road to the city.

I was taking a break from struggling to festoon the hem of one of Lithoer's new gowns with a string of small pearls from Dol Amroth as part of my gift to my new sister. Gænwyn smiled. "I was simply remarking that you look rather distracted."

It had taken Gænwyn only three days of watching me unable to focus, stumbling through my work and squirming through meals to realize that I would never be comfortable until we were in Edoras. There was no reason to expect that Éomer and my brother would return before the planned wedding day and most likely it would have to be postponed, but even the remote possibility that they could have been there while I waited in Dunharrow had been torturous. She had kindly suggested that perhaps we relocate as Lithoer might appreciate our help arranging the wedding.

"Not distracted, only frustrated. And I'm afraid I'm letting it get the better of me."

She nodded and came to join me on the low seat. "Lithoer is lucky. She doesn't have time to worry about your brother she has so much to do before the wedding. We peripheral creatures however suffer for our freedom."

"I do worry about him."

"Just your brother? Or anyone else?"

Much as I might wish to avoid it Gænwyn had been making increasingly direct attempts to herd me into this conversation for days. I had to smile slightly at that. "I worry about all the men in that battle."

I picked up the half-finished hem again with a sigh and began to carefully pull out a row of stitches. Never very good at needlework in any circumstance in my present state I had somehow managed a string of ten awkward stitches two rows back without even noticing them. The thread quickly became tangled and I swore loudly in Westron.

Gænwyn sighed and put down her work. "That's it. Come on, let's go for a ride. You aren't helping anyone here anyway."

I temporized for a moment and then nodded. "I'll finish this evening."

"Or tomorrow. What's the rush? The wedding isn't for another three days."

"Well I had meant to finish two more gowns before then."

She cocked an eyebrow at me. I had been making painfully slow progress.

"Well, at least one more then."

We slipped out with a minimum of fuss. We both felt a little guilty leaving. With the wedding so close Lithoer and her friends had more than enough work to do and our help would be sorely missed. But we hadn't been riding in almost a week either and it was beginning to take its toll on Gænwyn. A ride would relax her, make her more efficient. I somehow thought it would do me less good, though exhausting myself could do no harm.

Down at the stables I saddled Wind Chaser. Gænwyn had been kind enough to lend me him again and I had been surprised at how happy I'd been to see him. I had recently even been thinking I might offer to buy him from her when I left again but I was worried she might just give him to me as a gift, which I didn't want. I was already so far in her debt.

Gænwyn choose a ride that would take us on a long circle back around the city and up into the foothills of the White Mountains behind. I was surprised at her choice. Even if we rode hard we would return only just before dusk. But the horses seemed as eager as we were for fresh air, gamely trotting, even at times galloping, across the wide plain between the city and the first slope. For an hour we rode in silence together, simply content to be out of the city and away from the chatter and wedding plans we had been immersed in for days.

As we drew towards the mountains and began to climb however we slowed to a walk and Gænwyn dropped back next to me so we could talk. "When Éomer was a child my sons were just about his age," she said without preamble. "And, though I lived mostly in my own seat, I came into Edoras often. Théodwyn also came many times to see her brother and I knew her quite well, she brought Éomer and his sister and they used to play with my boys."

"Oh?"

"They never got into more trouble than when Éomer was around as their ringleader! But he also had this way of getting them right back out of it as well. I remember once I had just bought a new prize stallion in the city. An enormous beast of a horse, seventeen and a half hands, and much too wild for anything but to be trained as a warhorse for my husband. But he was a beautiful thing to behold: black as midnight except for one white sock and with lines as handsome as you please. I knew the children would want to ride him so I very carefully locked the paddock gate and kept the key in my pocket at all times.

"So you can imagine my surprise one day when, coming back from a ride myself, up the path came Éomer and my two boys, all three of them cuddled up on the back of that stallion just as snug as kittens in a basket. I was furious and just as soon as I had dragged them off the back of the horse by their ears I demanded an explanation.

"'Éomer son of Éomund what exactly do you think you're doing on the back of that horse! I locked the paddock myself!'

"It was my son Hereward who answered, 'He jumped him over the paddock fence, Mother!'

"'You jumped him over the fence after I locked the gate?' I shouted at Éomer.

"And then just as cheeky and unrepentant as you please he looked up at me with a wicked, charming grin and said, 'Why yes, Lady Gænwyn. After all, you never said we shouldn't take him out for a ride!'

She roared with laughter. "Can you even imagine the nerve? I laughed so hard I couldn't bring myself to punish them for it."

In spite of myself, I grinned. I could imagine it only too well.

"Of course he changed a lot after his mother passed away, peace be with her, and the troubles in the court started. He changed so much that I'd almost forgotten about who he was before. Most of the time he is so serious and grim, which is only proper for a king in such troubled times, but when he's with you he sometimes reminds me of that mischievous little boy who used to cause me such trouble."

I grimaced. "Perhaps I remind him of how wickedness can seem like such fun."

"Perhaps you remind him of how it feels not to have the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders."

For a long moment neither of us said anything. We wound higher up the path in the late afternoon sun. Finally Gænwyn said, "Why don't you wear his mother's bracelet anymore?"

I toyed with my reins uncomfortably. "I left it in Minas Tirith."

"You never took it off for a day when you were in Edoras."

"I remember."

"Did you know that when he put it on your wrist he intended to ask you to marry him?"

My head jerked up and I met her gaze for the first time since the conversation had begun. "He said only a horse could mean an offer of marriage in the Mark!"

She grinned. "They were horses!"

I let out a little spluttering whoop of laughter. How very like Éomer to trick me into putting it on without knowing what it was. It reminded me of the flower snatched from my hair, the presumptuous way he assumed responsibility for me and asked me to dance, and the half-indulgent way he laughed at the wriggling, bantering way I talked in circles when I was uncomfortable. "But why would he do that? Give me a marriage proposal that I didn't understand?"

Her smile grew fractionally larger. "In truth, I don't think it was a message for you. You're beautiful, intelligent and your father is extremely influential in Gondor. Haven't you ever wondered why none of the young lords here ever tried to court you?"

I gaped at her. In Minas Tirith my reputation (to say nothing of my sharp tongue) had scared most potential suitors off. It hadn't occurred to me that in a foreign court I might be considered more favorably. "I had always assumed that was due to my... spirited nature."

She laughed. "Rohirrim men like a little spirit in their women. But even before he gave you the bracelet, Éomer had made his preference for you so clear I doubt that any of them would have dared try to kiss you, much less offer for your hand."

My brows drew together. "Made his preference clear?"

"Before Yule I don't think he knew what his feelings for you were. He enjoyed spending time with you but you are not an easy woman to get to know and he is also one to keep his own counsel. But still... he had never come riding with the ladies in the mornings before you arrived."

That was something I had never considered before. Of course I had known that Éomer favored me – he'd offered for my hand — but I had never considered how his feelings for me might have come to be. His love for me had always felt unearthly, miraculous— as if I had turned over a stone and found a fully formed crown beneath, where it had no right to be. I had never considered why Éomer might love me because it hadn't occurred to me that there could be any reason. I felt wicked but lucky and questioning my luck hadn't seemed wise in the least.

"But how could he? How could he love me, Gænwyn?" My next words didn't come tumbling out. I had to force them haltingly through clenched teeth. "I have done things that would make you sick. I've hurt people who never deserved it because I was bored. I've ruined people's lives because they offered me a small offense or because it was convenient. I'm petty and jealous and I think awful, awful things about people. I'm... I'm not a gentle or forgiving person. He should have better than I can offer."

For a moment she said nothing. Then, "I have known many great men in my life but Éomer is one of the noblest. I could not be prouder to call him my King and my friend. And yet he is not without his own darkness. He is proud to a fault, arrogant at times. He has killed many men and longs for battle still. You yourself have seen his anger—how it can consume him. It is true that there are sharp and deadly things in you. But he too has seen the side of himself that is comfortable with violence, the side that longs for an enemy under his sword. Do you imagine that a gentle lamb of a woman would be more suited to him?"

"Perhaps not a lamb but someone more...deserving."

She shook her head. "He has chosen you. He wants you. He isn't playing one of your courtly games where punishment and reward are meted out for past actions. Love isn't about what you deserve but what you desire."

"But how can he desire me?"

"That is impossible for me to know. It's impossible even for the two of you to know. We come into this world alone and in the end we leave it in the same way. In between we look for something in other people that relieves that loneliness but it's nothing that can be pointed to directly. You make him laugh and you're intelligent and beautiful. But in some way you must also make him feel like he's home, like he isn't alone and the why of that is something no human has ever really understood."

As she spoke the strange feeling of a phantom hand on my waist, guiding me through a dance, on my arm, pulling me towards the surface of black water, on my cheek, brushing back an errant lock of hair, tingled across my skin.

She was right of course. I had known countless handsome men, perhaps a dozen intelligent and interesting men, perhaps as many as six or seven brave and noble men but never had a single one made me want to be taken in their arms. There was something in me, clawing tooth and nail to get out, that simply wanted to lie in Éomer's arms, and to enfold and envelop him in myself—to shelter and be sheltered—but to name the origin of it was beyond me. Éomer hadn't caused me to love him. The parts of myself that were resonant with him had been there all along, just waiting to be sounded and heard.

Gænwyn laughed. "Or perhaps it is because you have so many teeth."

I scowled. "What does that mean anyway? You told me that when we didn't understand each other and then you never bothered to explain it once we did! I asked Éomer and he said that it wasn't suitable for him to explain."

Her laugh turned into a roar. "You told him that I said it about you?"  
I blushed furiously. "Who else was I supposed to?" I snapped. "He was the only one who spoke good enough Westron that could explain it to me!"

"Well a mare with many teeth is said to have no trouble conceiving because she enjoys... the act of being covered."

At that I turned purple. "I asked Éomer..."

She waved me off. "Oh please, Lothíriel, there's no shame in it! A woman should enjoy the act of physical love."

I shook my head and sighed. There was no use trying to explain to Gænwyn that the decent maids of Gondor were not meant to even really known the mechanics of being 'covered,' much less speculate on the amount of pleasure which could be derived from it. And there was no use getting mad at her for accidentally sending me to Éomer with such an embarrassing question.

We walked on for a few minutes in silence before I finally said. "I don't know if I would be a good Queen of the Mark."

"You would find a way. Perhaps you don't have all the experience you could wish but you would beat your own path, I'm sure of it. I would be proud to call you my Queen."

I grimaced. Her unwavering confidence in me made me writhe a little in the saddle with discomfort. You don't deserve it, you don't deserve it, you don't deserve it my inner voice chanted in time with the beat of my horse's hooves. "Gænwyn I wish you wouldn't say things like that. I don't know if I'm the person... if I really..."

"I always wonder where you learned your twisted modesty. I know your flaws, Lothi. You're the only woman I've ever met who wears them so openly on her sleeves while her virtues she hides like any blemish."

I gritted my teeth, suddenly blinking back tears. "And I always wonder where you learned such oblivious faith in me. I gave away the bracelet. I gave it away to the biggest monster in the Minas Tirith court because she wanted it as a trophy."

For a long moment Gænwyn simply looked at me. Then, she shrugged. "It was just a piece of jewelry, Lothi."

A tear spilled over at that and I wiped it away quickly. "How can you say that? How can you not care?"

"It's only a token you gave away. You can't give away the things that really matter."

We didn't speak again until we came to the summit of our climb, the crest of the ridge where we stopped to take in the view. In the distance there was the shadow of a small group of riders coming up the Great Western Road. Among them would be King Elessar, my father and Elphir, arriving for the wedding. My heart throbbed dully. Far from making me feel better my conversation with Gænwyn had made me wretched. The city seemed very far away and the ride back a long, undesirable trek.

Gænwyn too seemed tired as she sighed. "We should ride back. As it is I think we will barely have time to bathe and change before supper. Besides, we should help as much as we can to arrange the welcome feast."

I nodded my assent and we turned our horses back to the path, urging them into a trot.

The day before the wedding dawned clear and warm. It felt more like the last day of a perfect summer than the first day of autumn. They sky was a cloudless blue and there was a light breeze to offset the warmth of the unfettered sun. Even I was in a tentative good mood as Lithoer, Gænwyn and I broke our fast together in the morning and then helped each other dress and braid our hair. I felt the strain of Éomer absence, the weight of not knowing if he was safe, if he would forgive me, but Lithoer was in such an effulgent state of joy, sure that Erchirion would return by the morrow, that it was impossible for me to stew on my own problems.

In honor of the harvest and to celebrate it we dressed in tones to mimic the earth. My gown was cut from a light brown linen, with short-sleeves and a tight bust but loose below my breasts and falling unfettered to my plain leather sandals. In my hair I had woven a simple stalk of wheat where a brooch usually rested and no other decoration. In honor of our imminent sisterhood Lithoer and I had dressed in the same fabric, though she had cut her dress with longer sleeves and a more fitted bodice and wore in her hair a single yellow leaf. Gænwyn wore a moss green dress in a stylish cut from Gondor which I had picked out for her: a fitted bodice, a high waistline and a petticoat beneath it. It gave me distinct pleasure to see her fidget uncomfortably with the petticoat every time she sat down after all the times she had teased me for how long it had taken me to adjust to the styles and customs of the Rohirrim.

Though I carefully resisted saying anything she seemed to know my thoughts. "Oh no need to look so secretly pleased! If you can learn to ride properly I can learn to master sitting in this silly contraption soon enough," she said with a wink as she tried to wrestle her skirt into submission. "Until then you're welcome to take all the pleasure you can from my... struggles."

We were lingering over breakfast. There was good, dark bread and some fresh butter with jam as well as eggs cooked with mushrooms and onions. I had brought some coffee with me from the south as a present for Erchirion but was indulging myself in a little this morning. Lithoer and Gænwyn were chatting away merrily about the festival and the wedding but I was simply letting the sounds wash over me without bothering much to understand them fully. The mellow taste and aroma of the coffee and the sound of familiar voices were a complete pleasure and I let myself float in them both without much thought or direction.

The sound of the horn was like a sudden, shuddering drop of awareness in the floating, languorous drift of my consciousness. I was out of my chair, pushing my mug off onto the table, and at the window before anyone else had even become aware of what they had heard. I threw open the casement and stuck my head out into the warm, brilliant air.

There! Coming from the direction of the Westfold was a small band of riders, but too far off to indentify. My heart was instantly in my throat and a confused brew of emotions welled up in my chest. I was anxious and excited and utterly overjoyed. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and were just as quickly flattened as Gænwyn and Lithoer, trying to see out the window too crowded in around me, Lithoer practically laying on top of me as she strained to see. The horn sounded again.

"That's the call of the return from battle!" Gænwyn exclaimed.

"Who is among them?" Lithoer shouted.

Of course it was a silly question. There was no way for us to know until they drew closer but I knew how she felt. It seemed unfair, ridiculous even, that I didn't know if Éomer was in the band. How could I not feel him among the riders? How could I not know instinctively? "We should go down to meet them at the gate!" Gænwyn suggested.

This suggestion was instantly met with overwhelming agreement. Though they were still a way off and it would be some time before the party reached the gates, we practically dashed out of the room, breakfast forgotten on the table.

Lithoer was practically skipping as we walked down through the city streets. She and Gænwyn were speculating on what it meant that they were back early and on whether or not it looked as though the riders were carrying anyone in a sling or had brought any seriously wounded back with them. I walked in silence, barely hearing them over the sound of my own heart beating.

I knew I wouldn't get to speak with Éomer right away. If he were among the riders and if he were not seriously hurt, and even if he wanted to speak with me, the second he crossed the threshold he would be instantly overwhelmed by a litany of inescapable duties. It was the first day of the festival and he was a king returning to a city after weeks of being away. There would be no chance for him to say whatever he was going to say to me that morning. Not with the opening festivities in the afternoon. Still, even a glimpse of him hale and healthy would end a large part of my agony.

Though we were among the first to make it to the gates, the three of us were far from the only people in the city to come down to meet the party. As the riders approached most of the nobility in the city filtered down to stand on the wall and watch them approach. Amrothos came down and stood with us as well but he said little, instead preferring to stare out over the sea of the grass and shift his weight uncomfortably.

He reminded me of a horse when it smells a storm coming. I suddenly remembered that flash of intuition and dread the morning that Éomer rode out when I'd wondered where he'd been when I'd been fetching my handkerchief. My stomach began, slowly, to sink. By the time he took me by the arm and walked with me away from the group, down along the exterior wall until we were out of the hearing of the gathered party, I felt nothing but a resigned nausea.

He leaned over the wall and looked out at the riders. "I did something that you aren't going to like, Lothi," he said without preamble.

My heart thudded so hard against my ribs I worried that it would burst. I said nothing.

"The morning that Éomer rode out to the Westfold I gave him all of the letters you sent me from Rohan."

"Why...?"

The word came out in a rasp. I felt as though a burning hot knife had slit me from navel to breastbone, letting everything inside of me that had been so happy and hopeful just a moment before spill out.

"I did it for you!" His jaw clenched and he looked ready to strike the stone before him. But then he relaxed slightly. "I don't want you to marry a man who can't appreciate you for who you are. You saved me from Harra twice—I realize that's what you were doing now—and I will do the same for you."

I stared at his profile for a long moment as he refused to meet my eyes. To my horror, I realized that he was telling the truth. He wasn't trying to revenge what I'd done to him; he was trying to repay me for it. Had he meant to punish me, furtive and apologetic shame would have been the last emotion to cross his mind. Foul deeds repaid were Amrothos' specialty and in vengeance he was glorious: exactly as smug and unrepentant as was fitting.

"He has to know the truth about who you are. You can't share your life with a man who doesn't understand the first thing about you. If he loves you, he should love all of you," he mumbled.

I closed my eyes trying to keep my stomach from emptying. Telling Amrothos that I had been lying, that the contents of those letters had been the things I thought he wanted to hear instead of what I genuinely felt about Rohan would have been useless. In his mind Éomer had taken me away from who I truly was, conquered me in some way. His own experience with love had been so destructive that he wouldn't understand how nurturing mine had been. He saw only that I had changed when Éomer entered my life. What he didn't see was that what had changed was that I no longer felt that I was drowning in misery. Éomer might as well have literally pulled me from the sea.

"He doesn't deserve you, Lothi! He doesn't even understand you!"

My eyes flew open. It was true that Éomer wouldn't understand those letters. He would never have allowed himself to be manipulated into writing something that didn't reflect his true feelings. "Maybe he doesn't understand me," I said quietly. "And he certainly doesn't deserve me—the things I've done to him and the havoc I've wrought on him. But you don't understand me anymore either, Brother, though someday I hope you do."

As I turned to leave he tried to catch my hand in his. "Lothi please..."

I pulled it away. "I can't be with you right now. I can't...I can't..."

I went back to stand with Lithoer and Gænwyn but there was none of the usual pleasure of companionship. I was standing on a parapet, waiting for the man I loved to return from battle and the harvest festival to commence. The war was won and prosperity was returning but I felt only a numb terror. The bright summer sunshine felt colder and emptier than any winter night.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to you if you review! Love to Lady Bluejay for beta reading this! XO Spake


	17. Chapter 17

Until the last moment I swore I would meet Éomer's gaze when he got close enough to distinguish from his fellow riders but at the last moment my nerve failed me. The gate shook when the men rode under it. The vibrations seemed to rack my body more than was usual, but maybe I was only shuddering.

Once the head of the procession had passed, I was able to look for my brother and Eadric in the crowd. I couldn't find the young stablehand in the press. Erchirion was easy to spot however, about halfway back, his black hair standing out starkly. He looked exhausted and dirty but when he saw us he raised his arm and waved gamely.

Lithoer pulled me into a tight embrace. "Oh thank Valar! Oh thank Valar!" She whispered into my hair. I returned her embrace, trying to wave back to my brother at the same time and feeling a sweet little bit of relief under the strange numbness of dread a smile opened out on my face.

"He doesn't look hurt, does he?" She wanted confirmation.

I shook my head as well as I could with her arms so knitted around my neck. "He could do with a good scrubbing and I wouldn't like to guess the last time he washed that..."

But she wasn't listening to me. "Come, come, let's go down to see him!"

As we ran down the steps I asked Gænwyn, "Did you see Eadric? That young stable hand you assigned to assist me? I couldn't spot him."

She shook her head. "I don't think I did. But I wasn't really looking for him to be honest," she added quickly when she saw my expression.

I nodded but felt uneasy. Éomer had promised to bring him back as his squire. What would it mean if he hadn't? He wouldn't have left Eadric at the front simply to spite me, I was sure of it. And even with his mind full of battle and responsibility it seemed unlikely he would forget a promise. A slow nausea began to build in my stomach. It seemed like an ill omen.

"I'm sure he was just lost in the throng."

The stables were a riot of activity and we hung back, not wishing to interfere. However when my brother appeared at the entrance, hair slicked down with sweat and grimy with dust, Lithoer ran forward, shouting his name. He turned and caught her in a passionate embrace.

It wasn't appropriate to our Gondorian upbringing—I felt I should look away—but the nearby riders of Rohan met the display with a brief shout of approval. When they broke apart Erchirion was red to the ears but looked more than pleased with his reception and they returned to me and Gænwyn with their limbs intertwined a little more intimately than was normally required for a gentleman offering a lady his arm.

Gænwyn glanced at me and laughed. "They're engaged, Lothíriel. It would be a cold woman indeed that would deny her betrothed a kiss upon his return from battle!"

But she'd mistaken my flush for a blush. I wasn't thinking of etiquette; I was thinking of strong hands around my own waist, of being pressed hard against a broad chest and being enveloped in the smell of sweat and pine and dusty roads traveled on horseback. I was thinking of things I'd only read about in Haradrim poetry and dreamed about on the warmest nights of Minas Tirith to wake gasping in the dark, unfulfilled.

Seconds later when my brother caught me up in a hug it occurred to me briefly that I got all those things (for he certainly smelled of sweat, dust and horses and he clutched me to his broad and reeking tunic) but my only response was to push him away with all my strength and squeal, "Oh, Erchiri you're absolutely filthy!" How utterly different than the reaction I'd envisioned.

He laughed and only drew me tighter, planting a kiss on my cheek even as I tried to squirm away. "A little dirt won't do anything to diminish your radiance, Sister," he assured me with a cheeky grin.

When he released me, I brushed my clothes off pointedly but then favored him with a genuine smile and a return of his kiss, though I was careful to pick the cleanest spot on his cheek. "I'm glad to see you well, Brother."

He peered down at me with a considering look. "You as well."

"Do you know where Eadric is, Erchirion? I didn't see him in the throng?"

His brow contorted. "The stable boy who asked for your favor the morning we left? I'm sorry Lothi but I'm not sure. I rode with the éoreds from the Eastenmet and Éomer rode with those from the Westenmet. I barely saw him during the battle and since we've been riding hard for days and barely making camp or conversation." He rubbed a hand over his face. "Damn but I'm tired!"

We offered to accompany him back up the hill so he could clean-up and change his clothes, but he shook his head, "I'm sure you've wasted quite enough of the morning staring at boring black shapes in the distance. Now that you've satisfied yourselves that my countenance is no fouler than when I left, you should go enjoy the festival."

With the perfect sincerity of a girl on the eve of her wedding, Lithoer peered up at him and said, "I think you've gotten fairer still. I wouldn't have thought it possible." He bent down and rewarded her with a brief but tender kiss. I bit back a quip pointing out that, at the moment, his face was mostly obscured by dust.

But only a groom would think that we would possibly have the time to enjoy the festival now that the wedding was sure to take place the next day. Tonight Lithoer, along with her parents and two brothers, would be formally presented to my father. Of course they had dined privately with my family almost every day since the party from Gondor had arrived. I had tried, unsuccessfully, not to be jealous of the easy way she had fitted in at our table after the initial blush of nerves had receded. But tonight she would officially become an acquaintance of ours, a critical first step to becoming our newest addition the following night.

The schedule for the wedding, as well as the question as to who would feast who each night, had been the subject of intense debate. Both families, both kingdoms, were eager to heap their hospitality on the other and since it had been agreed that the wedding would be a mix of Gondorian and Rohirric traditions (which differed in several key ways) both had some justification for it. In the end it had been decided that Rohan and Lithoer's family would host the feast that night (and I had no trouble believing that preparations had commenced even before the group of riders had been spotted, just in case the riders returned) and my father and Gondor would host the feast the next day.

As my brother's sister it wouldn't have been proper for me to be too much involved in the planning of a feast that was, essentially, in my family's honor, but as Lithoer's friend I was allowed to at least help her prepare.

But by mid-afternoon I wished I'd gone back to the house with Erchirion. Gænwyn and the band of ladies of Edoras I'd grown to know a little bit while helping Lithoer with her troth, had gone off to help with the feast preparations. It was Lithoer's mother and her cousins, none of whom I had ever met, who were helping her with her ablutions.

I hung back, feeling out of place and isolated in the flurry of activity and rapid Rohirric. I would have loved to have something to do—any simple little task to keep my hands occupied—but no one wanted to impose by giving me one, and I couldn't work up the courage to ask. My Rohirric was quite good these days but I always felt a certain reluctance, not to say shyness, about speaking in front of strangers. I could tell that I was coming off as haughty and aloof and struggled to make myself seem more inviting but I didn't have much energy for the project. All I really wanted to do was curl up somewhere in solitude and weep for a few days.

Lithoer would have made an effort to include me but she was trapped in the center of a storm of activity. She was scrubbed, polished, filed, plucked and oiled from head to toe. Two at a time her cousins and female relatives worked to pamper and perfect her, a fate she accepted with laughing good humor though at times it looked quite painful.

I stared out the window, trying to remember the contents of the letters I had sent Amrothos even as I prayed to forget them.

I allowed myself to wonder about Eadric and sunk deeper into depression. The explanations for his absence were grim. At best it meant that Éomer had begun to hate me so much that he had broken his promise. At worst it meant Eadric was dead or too severely wounded to travel. Either option made my stomach turn.

The feast itself was mercifully short. As a relatively unimportant player in the diplomatic machinations I was also placed, thankfully, far from Éomer. My luck in seating placement had only extended so far however. I had been seated between Amrothos and Marshall Elfhelm, who had so disapproved of me when we'd first met. We didn't speak much past the necessary greetings when first seated and then there were the speeches to listen to (from both fathers and kings) but during the meal the silence became almost oppressive. Amrothos chatted with the girl to his left, one of Lithoer's cousins. The girl didn't speak enough Westron to allow him to either flirt with or denigrate her satisfactorily. It didn't stop him from trying however. His only other alternative was to speak to me.

Finally, after the second course had been served, Elfhelm broke the silence. "I used your map often this past year, my lady. I thank you for that work."

I looked up from where I had been staring blankly into some sort of white soup. "Oh? I am gratified to hear it was used. Where were you riding?"

He had been working in the Westemnet, riding with the larger shipments of grain coming into and then flowing out of that region. I quizzed him on where he'd been, the villages he had visited and the general news from the region and he quickly warmed to both the subject and me.

"I'm from the Eastmark and most of my riders are from the there. I barely know the West of the country but it is where most of our wheat is produced. I was well glad to have something to show me what I could expect on the road: where good water could be found and which villages offered an inn. It means the world to a man after many days of travel... but of course you already know that, being a rider yourself these days I hear!"

I grinned and inclined my head with a little bobbing nod of thanks. "I can remember one innkeep's wife who I almost kissed when she offered to draw me a bath after a particularly muddy ride!"

"I know the feeling, my lady!" he said with a lusty wink.

I blushed but couldn't stifle a little chortling laugh.

"You know I never would have thought that you would have taken to the Mark so well when you first arrived," he said after a moment's pause. "You were such a miserable little thing on the journey who would have thought that you would be riding out with an éored after less than a year!"

He was trying to pay me a compliment and, after more than a year among them, I had grown to accept (if not to appreciate) the Rohirrim's more direct way of speaking, but his words seemed to take the glow out of the candles for me. I had been horrible to Elfhelm and everyone else along with us on that ride, sitting in the back of the cart and glaring out at the world. Inevitably, the shame of the memory reminded me of the fresh insult I had offered to his King.

I smiled, false and winning. "After a month of eating nothing but venison stew in Edoras I felt sure that there must be something else to eat in the rest of Rohan, so I simply rode out to find it. No great act of heroism, I assure you."

He roared with laughter at that. "Oh, very good, my lady! Very good!"

We chatted after that quite easily about my experiences in the Mark but when our conversation turned to the situation with the Wild Men a question suddenly occurred to me. "You didn't by any chance happen to meet a young man named Eadric when you were there did you? From Underharrow? He would have ridden in with Éomer King."

I had fully expected him to say no. Elfhelm had been essentially Éomer's second in command in the campaign. He would have no reason to remember one rider among what would have been hundreds amassed to fight off the Wild Men. To my complete surprise he smiled. "Oh, you know Éomer's little shadow? When did you meet him?"

"In Underharrow, before he rode out. Why do you call him Éomer's shadow?"

Elfhelm laughed at that and held out his hands in a placating gesture. "I suppose it's only proper to say 'squire' since Éomer did make him one. But he's never taken a squire before and I'm not sure he knew what he was getting into when he chose that one. The lad is too eager by half and twice as green as that. He made quite a scene at the camp though, dashing about with his Lord's armor and tack like he was on a quest given to him by Mithrandir himself!"

I could imagine it only too well. I grinned. "But then do you know where he is? I looked for him in your number this morning but I didn't see him?" I didn't add that, had Eadric returned to the city he would have certainly had the audacity to call on me, and rank could go into the West with the Elves.

"Éomer sent him to Aldburg the morning that we left. I'm not sure why. Perhaps just to be rid of him for a spell... Though they get along quite well, of course. My lord simply isn't used to having a squire, that's all," he said, mistaking the meaning of my frown.

I didn't doubt for one minute that Eadric was completely in awe of Éomer and had allowed himself to become quite carried away with the idea of being his squire. Nor did I find it difficult to believe that the attention made Éomer uncomfortable. What I didn't understand was why Éomer would have sent him to Aldburg when he had promised to bring him back with him to Edoras. Did he mean to punish me by not allowing me to see my friend? I quickly dismissed the thought as unworthy of him. Perhaps he had simply needed something from Aldburg, or, as Elfhelm suggested, a rest from his company. But Éomer had promised. Surely it meant something that he had broken that promise.

I was relieved to hear that Eadric hadn't been hurt, but it brought all my questions into sharper focus.

"He was well however when he left? Not hurt in battle?"

Elfhelm shook his head. "Not that one, my lady! Oh, he was surely reckless enough, but I quite have the idea that my lord was looking out for him in some of the messier situations we found ourselves in."

Again the candle flames seemed to dim slightly as shame washed over me. A king with no heir had risked his life for a stable boy at the word of a treacherous woman like me. Each fresh example of Éomer's goodness only made me feel lower, more contemptible. I thought of a line from one of the letters I had sent Amrothos—his loyalties are easily discerned and might as well be chains of iron on his wrists for how surely they bind him. Only a paramount fool would leave himself so exposed–and felt sick.

When the feast was over gifts were exchanged and loyalties pledged but there would be no dancing since we wished to be fresh enough to dance until dawn the next night. My father made another speech welcoming Lithoer to our table. I rose, thanked Elfhelm sincerely for the enjoyable conversation and then took Amrothos' arm. "Please walk me home, Brother," I said, my first words to him that night.

I kept my head down as we walked out of Meduseld, practically clutching Amrothos' arm as I dragged him forward. I didn't want to see Éomer, didn't want to talk to him. "I truly am sorry that you were hurt by what I did, Lothi," he said as we made our way down the path. "But I think someday you'll thank me for what I've done."

"Just be quiet Amrothos," I said softly. "I don't want to talk about it."

I knew I would forgive him eventually. No matter what he did, Amrothos was my brother and the first person ever to love me. In his darkest hour he had acted ignobly, wrongly and he had hurt me deeply. But who knew better than I how easy that was to do?

Formally it had fallen to my sister-in-law Gyril, as the wife of the heir, to prepare the feast but in the end the plans had been mostly mine. She was a sensible woman and, though far more experienced than me at organizing parties and feasts, had never been to Edoras and had no real knowledge of Rohirric tastes or traditions, much less the language of all the available vendors. It wasn't that she had shirked her work—I had never thrown a party myself and wouldn't have known even where to start—but she'd asked me to accompany her everywhere she went as a translator and adviser. The purse had come from my father and Elessar, the experience had come from Gyril but the taste of the wedding feast would be mine. Quite literally, as I had selected the courses to be served, as well as the wine and spirits, but even more so because I had chosen the musicians, and decorations. I felt I had done a much better job of it than I had helping Lithoer with her troth.

The day passed much more pleasantly than I had expected. Preparations kept me busy and I had no fear that I would see Éomer either since the men were all out hunting for the evening feast.

The wedding itself took place on the steps of the Meduseld just before dusk. So many nobles from both Gondor and Rohan had come to see it that the hall, big as it was, had been precluded.

Lithoer looked absolutely radiant.

Her wedding dress had been a gift from my father but I had been allowed to select it. It was cut in silk and velvet with long, tight sleeves and a fitted bodice and, eschewing the fashion of the day which called for a voluminous, flowing pillow of a skirt, contented itself with a simple but elegant fall of cloth. The single embellishment was a train that would trail her by several feet. She looked perfectly at ease and perfectly comfortable as she came up the path on horseback and slid down to walk up the steps to join my brother on the dais. Standing on the dais as well I had to peer around Lithoer's mother to glimpse my brother's reaction to her. Erchirion looked as if he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life. His eyes seemed to shine out with emotions—love, devotion, and most of all an overwhelming joy and eagerness. He brought both hands to his lips for an instant as if overwhelmed, before he mastered himself again.

Later when the floor was opened for dancing I was among the first to claim my turn with him. "They say all bridegrooms think their prize is the fairest maiden ever to walk this Middle-earth. But they were all idiots and dupes. You know better. You know that this is only true of Lithoer," I teased him.

He threw his head back as he laughed. "Too true, Sister!"

When the song ended I chatted with Gænwyn for a while. Occasionally someone would ask me to dance but I pleaded fatigue. I was in hiding after all, the last thing I needed to be doing was spending a lot of time in the focus of so much attention.

When it came time for the bride and bridegroom to retire more speeches were made. My father toasted the health of the bride and wished her many sons. King Elessar spoke about the renewed bonds between two nations (still managing to wish the bride many healthy children). I had expected Éomer's speech to be likewise diplomatic but he spoke instead about his memories of Erchirion and Lithoer each. He spoke about Lithoer's efforts during the war to support Rohan and of how beautiful and sought-after she'd been in her youth.

"We are proud to send such a jewel of Rohan to our Southern brothers. We know that she will be as beloved there as she is here and do her homeland much credit."  
He spoke of first meeting Erchirion in the darkest days of the war and at length about the service he had done for Rohan after the war helping to rebuild the destruction.

"Many men of Gondor rode into battle at Pelennor fields with me and I thank them all for their courage. I will honor them with my last breath. But only one man rode back to Rohan with me. Only one of that host came home with me to put my lands in order and for that I will honor him twice."

The speech didn't surprise me, though I think it did some of the other Gondorian attendants. It was full of emotion without being sentimental; it was wholly the truth while still being diplomatic and the words were eloquent without being anything less than entirely suited to their purposes. I had always known that Éomer was a great orator. I had always had a complex relationship with his ability to avow so easily such deep emotions. But when his speech turned to love, I felt my face begin to flush steadily."

As he spoke the words the room exploded into a roar of approval (it must have been loud but I remember it only as a dim roar, as faint as a far off breaking tide) and he turned and looked directly at me. It was as if all the blood in my body froze solid. I couldn't move for a long time as he held me in his gaze. His face was impassive but his eyes were full of a blazing light. His fury was clear but so was the unvoiced question in them.

For a subjective eternity I couldn't move. Then, imperceptibly quickly, I gave a short nod. He turned away from me without returning it.

When the speeches were finished Lithoer and Erchirion were ready to 'run the gauntlet.' All the guests crowed around the central isle of the hall, all pushing to be towards the front. Tradition held that Erchirion must protect his new bride and ensure that they made it safely to the two horses saddled outside that would take them to their new home (in this case the small cottage in lieu of their actual home in Dol Amroth). The guests were allowed to throw at the new couple whatever they wanted. In this case it would only be handfuls of wheat and flowers or perhaps at worse a little water or wine but there were of course stories of jilted lovers throwing handfuls of dung or knives at new couples. One Princess of Dol Amroth had been said to be so unpopular a choice that on her wedding day she had faced a thicket of rotten produce and had almost refused to be taken to her marriage bed she was so indignant.

They were supposed to wait until the musicians struck up the cue to run but Lithoer, laughing and grabbing my brother by the hand, dashed forward a few seconds early. The crowd at the front, eager not to be robbed of their opportunity, hurled forth such a profusion of wheat and flowers it looked as though the hall had been taken by a sudden blizzard. No sooner had the pair emerged, laughing and now with Lithoer thrown over Erchirion's shoulder, then the next volley was showered down on them. When they passed us my handful went slightly wide but Gænwyn managed to get Erchirion full in the chest and squawked with delight.

And then they were out into the night, swinging up onto their horses as we guests swarmed out to see them off. Men shouted lewd advice and suggestions, women threw more flowers and wheat and it seemed like everyone was screaming how much joy and prosperity and heirs they wished them.

When they were out of range and out of sight the tide of people receded back into the hall quite quickly. After all the show was over and the mead would flow and the dancing would continue until dawn. Gænwyn started back towards the hall but turned round when she saw I wasn't following. "I'm going to stay out here for a moment," I said. "I need to clear my head."

She nodded and went back in.

He was standing exactly where we had stood the night of the dance, when he had snatched the flower from my hair. I still remembered the feeling of his fingers on my cheek and his hand over mine as he indicated the constellation of Eorl. Though the night was warm, a slight shiver went up my spine at the memory.

I went to him and stood before him, trying to hold myself as erect as possible and not to shake. "You wanted to see me? We aren't alone out here tonight, Éomer. Are you sure you want to speak to me with so many around?"

There were more than half a dozen young pairs of lovers scattered around the dais, enjoying the moonlight and the view. If we spoke in more than a whisper one or more of them would be able to hear us."

Wordlessly he took me by the hand and led me down the steps. As always the touch of his flesh to mine was a singular experience. Why was I so much more keenly aware of the warmth of his skin and the lithe taught muscles beneath than any of the other men who had ever touched me? Still it would have been more common to offer me his arm and I wondered why he had taken my hand, a more intimate gesture. I glanced down at our hands and noticed a long white bandage that was wrapped from his wrist to his elbow. Because I had been avoiding his gaze, and practically unable to look at him since he had returned, I hadn't noticed it until that moment.

We were still moving through the smattering of people who hadn't gone back into the hall so I felt safe to ask. "Are you badly hurt?"

He didn't look at me but I saw his profile clearly as he frowned. "No."

"Are you wounded anywhere else?"

"No."

"Truly?"

"No more than the usual scrapes and bruises of battle."

"Why did you send Eadric to Aldburg?"  
His frown deepened. "I needed something retrieved from my home. As my squire Eadric insisted that it was his duty alone to fetch it."

"He is unhurt then?"

That brought a small smile. "No more than the usual scrapes and bruises of battle."

Éomer led me down the steps and then turned into the labyrinthine hedged garden that occupied the eastern side of the lawn around the Meduseld. We followed a twisting branching path but Éomer seemed to know where he was going and so we wound deeper and deeper into the dark until the noise of the party was so dim we could hear the night noises: the hum of crickets, an occasional bird calling and the whistle of the wind across the plains. We didn't need a torch the moon was so bright. The bright silver light made everything seem magical, more like an elven garden than something built by the hands of men.

By the time Éomer finally stopped walking I had forgotten the reason for our walk, that the walk had a reason at all other than the pleasurable feeling of being in a place so quiet and beautiful. The party, my turmoil, Amrothos and the letters, seemed to belong to another lifetime, another world entirely. He led us to a small clearing at the very edge of where the lawn changed from a tangle of hedges and flowers and paths into a simple sweep of grass on the western side. In the clearing there were four old plinths in an irregular pattern. Once they must have been the bases for statues of some kind but only one held any remnant of what it had once been: an irregular bump on its flat top that could have been the beginning of any number of things.

"What is this place?" I asked.

"It's called Brego's Walk. People say that he liked to visit this place and that the statues were of his forefathers but more likely than not that's a fiction, the Rohirrim do not normally build statues. No one really knows what they were or if they'd even been built in the time of Brego. More likely they were why he decided to site Edoras here."

With no thought that it might be the last time I touched him, I released his hand. I wanted to see the full extent of the clearing and so I walked for a while between and around the statues. Éomer stood near the tail head and watched me as I circled the plinths, weaving in and around them until I finally came to stand before the most complete one at the farthest end of the stone clearing, right where it gave away into the grass lawn.

I stood looking up at the lump of stone on the top trying to imagine what it might have been: the feet of some king? The bottom of a queen's dress? A rearing horse's hoof? I didn't hear him as he approached for he moved as silently as any other predator but I knew where he was. Like a divining rod over an underground spring I felt myself tense and quiver when he came to stand behind me. I turned to face him and drew myself up, folding my shoulders back in just the way I had been taught a lady should.

The languid, detached feeling of the walk was gone and my body and the air thrummed palpably with a tense, quavering energy. From his cloak he extracted a stack of folded papers and threw them down on the crumbling stone bench beside me. "Did you write these?"

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! And thanks as always to Lady Bluejay! XO Spake


	18. Chapter 18

I closed my eyes and the world spun away from me. When I opened them, he was still looking at me intently. "My lord..." I began.

But in several quick strides he closed the gap between us. I stumbled backwards into the side of the plinth but he pushed forward, slamming his hands to either side of me so I was trapped between his body and the stone. I couldn't breathe though my heart was pounding frantically. I must have looked like a deer who has seen the wolf poised almost at its hooves.

"Easy."

Excruciatingly slowly, he closed the gap between our lips.

For such a violent act the kiss that followed was surprisingly gentle, almost tentative. For a moment I was as still as the stone beneath my hands. He pressed his lips to mine lightly, drew back and then returned again, grazing my bottom lip just barely and tilting his head so that I felt his beard, somehow both soft and rough, against my cheek. When I heard his shuddering exhale and felt the warmth of his breath I began to respond, opening my mouth slightly and moving my lips inexpertly against his.

The result was like a damn breaking. He slid a hand along my bare arm and the other went to my hair, tangling in my braid and mussing it. I responded in kind. And suddenly, what had been at first practically chaste, was violent. One arm went back around my waist, crushing him to me. His lips crashed down on mine and into them he poured something of his temper, his pain and his will. them.

But my hands were back in his hair too, pulling his rough embrace tighter. My lips parted for him, willingly, eagerly. Why did I so enjoy being crushed in his arms, not exactly powerless but unable to escape? Why, instead of trying to push him away, did I long only for him never to stop? I would only ask myself later. In the moment, I was beyond thought.

When he pulled back I leaned in, following his lips with mine until he had to grip my hair to keep me in my place. "Oh you little fool," he growled

He kissed me again, brutally and quickly, as if to punish me. I tilted my head forward, searching for more retribution. But quick as a flash he moved back to stand three good paces from me. "Bema, woman, I will have an explanation from you."

That doesn't seem fair or reasonable, the small, still rational part of my mind piped up. He had dragged me out into the night, away from the party and any possible help, kissed me senseless and now he was demanding an explanation while my head was still spinning and my lips still aching? Did he think he was some sort of pirate king from the tales and that I would simply swoon for his pillaging kiss? If he did, he was correct, I thought, leaning against the stone as subtly as I could.

"I suppose you think that cloth flower snatched from my hair gives you the right to kiss me so?"

With another man it might have occurred to me to choose my words and tone a little more carefully. We were after all far enough away from the party that I was unlikely to be heard even if I screamed at the top of my lungs. I was out in the night with a man who had just kissed me as passionately as a man can kiss a woman and who had every reason in the world to be angry with her. At any other time I might have considered my reputation. Though we were unlikely to be observed it wasn't impossible that our absence from the party would be noticed and conclusions drawn from it. But Éomer posed no threat to me—not physically at any rate—and I would have traded in my reputation a thousand times over to have him kiss me again.

"That was a game for children. That kiss was mine by rights."

"By what right?" Anger burned like a torch in the muddled fog that seemed to have replaced my intellect and I grasped it readily, eagerly.

"A man has the right to kiss a woman who is as damn vexing as you are. I have the right to know how you feel about me, Lothíriel and it's no use at all asking you. You can talk in circles as well as anyone but you could never hide yourself as well in your actions. Now I have seen the measure of your feelings for me I want a full account of whatever game you're playing, and I want it now."

"Or what?"

"Or nothing, Lothíriel!" he retorted, glaring down at me. But when I refused to return his gaze he relented slightly. "I am hardly going to threaten you with a sword and we both know how effective other kinds of coercion have worked on you in the past. I can't make you explain yourself to me but you are smart enough to figure out why you should. Even if you often pretend you aren't. "

I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths. They were meant to steady me somewhat but the smell of him still lingering on my clothes only made me dizzy and the aching in my chest throb. Two instincts fought all out war.

The first instinct was older, a little ill used but tricky, cunning and it knew me well. It was my protective reflex towards Amrothos. For more than ten years my brother had been the only person who kept my confidence and gave me his in return. We had been castaways from the world together, voyagers in a dangerous and strange jungle, struggling to survive. And we had survived, and later flourished, because of the bond we had forged. Our mutual devotion and trust had been a comfort and a tool for us. Even now I knew that my brother had only been trying to protect me when he'd given the letters to Éomer. How could I betray his secrets?  
The other instinct was newer, but no less strong for its youth, and less well defined. It had to do with Éomer and how I felt about him. But it also incorporated elements of my relationships with Gaoiwyn, Erchirion and even Lithoer and my father. It had to do with telling the truth and doing what I thought was best. It was, I think, a nascent form of self respect.

"I have been in love with you since the day in the cave at the Dimholt. Maybe before."

He let out a low, hissing breath, like a man might when discovering a wound had infected, but he said nothing.

"But my brother has been in love with Lady Harra of Harrow since before I knew what love meant between a man and a woman. We had just come to the court, and Amrothos was a gangly teenager and I was still mostly a girl. We weren't ready for the court and the first months were pretty rough. It didn't matter that we were still children. We were the progeny of a powerful Prince and that meant that we were targets. I don't think father ever knew how miserable we were.

"So when Harra took a fancy to Amrothos, it seemed like a miracle. Overnight all our problems were solved. For me it was glorious but for Amrothos it was...transformative. He had never been powerful or popular and suddenly he was but it went deeper than that. I don't remember my mother but Amrothos and she were quite close. He took her death rather hard and I think that he always felt that... well it's hard to explain. Saeril, as we called her in those days, wasn't exactly a replacement for her but Amrothos got it into his head somehow that she was – what the world had given him when it had taken away his mother. And he was a boy in the throes of his first passion. It just got all tangled up somehow and by the time she got tired of him, he had...I mean we both had become completely different people. People who couldn't admit that Saeril had made them and that they cared that she tossed them aside for her newest conquest.

"And so for years we went along like trained dogs, doing exactly what Saeril had taught us. I don't think we were even really fully conscious of how deeply she still affected us until I left to come to Rohan. We had vowed somehow never to speak of the affair again but it was always there on our minds.

"We kept away from her as well until the night at the party when I defended you and Winweld from her. I think that got her attention again and since I left a few days later, she refocused on Amrothos. When I returned for Beltane it was fairly clear what she could use to hurt me. Or maybe I'm wrong. Maybe she wanted to hurt you and used me to do it. Maybe it was a little of both. Whatever her reasons, the night of the Beltane bonfires she... I don't know if you know that Lady Winweld is married with a child. For a while the father was gone. Winweld's father chased him out of Minas Tirith after he found them together. That night she sent Amrothos to tell me that if I didn't make you hate me in any way I could, she would spread a rumor that the child was yours."

His jaw clenched. "I would never..."

"Don't be naïve," I cut him off. "King Elessar may know the quality of your character but not everyone in the court does. Besides, most of them are gossip-mongering idiots and Lord Winweld is popular. The nobles would have refused to trade with you and Rohan can't afford that. Besides... Winweld would have been destroyed by it."

For the first time, his face softened slightly. "You little fool. Did it never occur to you to tell me that story instead of doing exactly what Harra and your brother demanded?"

"What exactly is it you think you would have done, Éomer?" I demanded. "You are a warrior and Valar-damn you, you see things in black and white. What use are you in a court intrigue? If you had known that I wanted to marry you, you never would have allowed me to do the things I needed to do. You would have insisted on doing the honorable things and going down on my sinking ship like a fool."

"Wouldn't that be my choice?"

I tossed my hair haughtily, as if the act would will the slight dampness in my eyes away or at least distract him from it. "Not while I still drew breath. If I had accepted your suit honor would have bound you to me but it would have bound me to Rohan and to you. As a new queen I would have had to watch my people suffer for a rumor I had allowed to propagate. And as your bride I would have watched you tormented because of my past. I would not have suffered that for anything."

He considered me for a moment. "If that is how you felt, how then have you returned to Rohan?"

He has to know the truth about who you are, Amrothos had said. "I blackmailed Harra. She and my brother used to meet in a brothel in the lower city and they kept all the paraphernalia of their romance there as well—keepsakes, love letters and the like. They were surprisingly sentimental in their own way. I went there one night and asked the madam for the letters so I could..."

"You went to a brothel in the lower city of Minas Tirith at night?"

"I didn't exactly have a choice. Erchirion was gone, Elphir and Father were out of the question, and I couldn't very well ask Amrothos to escort me, now could I? It isn't as if..."

To my surprise he let out a low, whistling breath and raked his fingers through his long hair but his lips quirked into a small smile. "And just when I think I've learned the limits of your depravity. I admit that the thought of you walking alone through the lower city of Minas Tirith at night makes my blood run slightly cold, but it would be unfair to call that anything but brave, considering what your mission was."

My head snapped up and for the first time since he'd returned to Edoras I looked at him clearly and began to see something that I had missed completely before that moment. He was angry with me, furious even, but it was tempered with an indulgent, protective, desirous emotion I hadn't seen since Beltane.

"You believe me then?" My voice was a rasp.

He closed the space between us again and brushed a strand of hair that had come loose from my braid when he had kissed me back behind one ear. He let the hand rest, cupping my neck. "Unequivocally." His mouth twisted up into a little half cocked grin and shook his head. "You know you can thank your brother for my lack of ambivalence too. I like to think that I would have taken you at your word but if there had been any doubt he removed it."

"Erchirion? What did he say?"

"Not Erchirion, Amrothos. Those wretched letters that he gave me convinced me that you were telling the truth when you said you wanted to marry me and had been coerced into saying no."

My brow twisted. "What are you talking about?"

He laughed. "Oh I was furious when I first read them. If I hadn't had a battlefield of victims to take my rage out on I don't know what I would have done. But after about a week it occurred to me that, coming from you, these," he gestured to the parcel on the bench, "are practically love letters. That's when I decided to send Eadric to Aldburg to bring Nightwind for you."

So that's why Eadric hadn't returned with Éomer! As excuses went for breaking a promise, it was far better than I had dared imagine. I gaped at him. "Why?"

"Well once I figured out how you felt about me, I thought there was a fairly good chance that I was going to propose to you...again." He laughed. "You know, I had expected that one of the boons of being King of Rohan would be that I wouldn't have to persuade my lady wife to consent to..."

"No, I mean 'why do you call them love letters?'"

His grin widened into something just shy of wicked. "Well first of all you talk about me without cease. I'm almost a third of what you write about!" I opened my mouth to protest but he continued quickly."And the way you go on listing all my weaknesses... it's just so exactly how you would behave if you were in love with me. Besides the fault you find with me is hardly as stinging as you might have thought when you were writing them. You accuse me in turn of being too loyal, brave generous and humble. Absolutely everything except too handsome. Why I bet your brother knew you were in love with me before you did!"

Contrary to the last I opened my mouth to protest and then closed it again. What could I say? He was correct. A lot of what I had written in those letters had been the frightened thrashings of a girl newly in loved and feeling somehow caught like a fish in a net by it. I hadn't known it was possible for a person to wield the kind of power Éomer had over me—to make me miserable when we fought or he was in danger. And, somehow even more terrifying, to make me gloriously happy just by being around. As much as possible I had hated him for it while still being in love with him.

To my eternal surprise the next words, naked and honest as they were, came spilling out unbidden. "Being in love with you, Éomer is the most scared I've ever been. You have no idea. I love you for it but I worry that your honor will get you killed. It leaves you so vulnerable to attack on and off the battlefield. And besides, I have no idea why you would love me and I think someday you might stop and if you did I don't know what I would do. I really just don't..."

I was babbling. Slowly he took my hands in his larger ones and pulled me gently to him, pressing his lips down over mine. When I didn't resist he let my hands go and put one hand around my waist, pulling my body against his hard chest gently and lacing the other in my hair. I responded in kind, lacing my own fingers through his hair.

It was a gentle, almost chaste kiss, but enough to leave me shaking. When he pulled away finally, sliding his hand down to grip my upper arm. I kept my fingers in his hair, keeping our lips close. I tried to reclaim his lips once but briefly, desperately, knowing that the moment was over. When I pulled back I let out a little mewing sound of despair, keeping my eyes tight shut against whatever came next. I let my hands fall, sliding down his chest to remain pressed against his abdomen.

"Oh my little viper," he murmured, lips pressed to my forehead. "I want you to be my wife."

I pushed back from him. He allowed me to create perhaps a forearm's length of space between us but not more. "Didn't you listen to my story? What do you think I had to do to get out of Harra's web? I manipulated you, lied to you, hurt you. And then I manipulated Winweld and Amrothos. And I blackmailed Harra. I went right back to being exactly the girl I always have been at the first sign of trouble. You don't know who I am, Éomer!"

"That may be true," he said. "But I find I quite like having to guess."

I tried to pull away again but he held me fast. I would have rather walked through fire than say what I said next. I would have rather gone back to Minas Tirith than meet his eyes. But I knew what needed to be done. "It's not just what's in the letters and the things I did to Harra and Amrothos and Winweld. My... my reputation as a gossip and a lady of the court is something I earned a thousand times over. I'm not a lady, not really. I'm not brave or noble or generous or any of the things you think I am. I'm just a silly little girl in pretty clothes and if you can't see that you're an idiot who fell for my act."

He laughed. "Very pretty clothes."

"This isn't funny!"

"It is a little. I always said you could ruin any good moment, I just hadn't realized how seriously you took it."

"I am serious, Éomer! You don't want to marry me!"

His anger was as quick as mine. "I don't want to hear that, Lothíriel!" His lips came crashing down on mine again like a wave beating me down into the sand of some warm beach. Reason washed away spun sugar in a torrent. My lips opened without prompting and his kiss was ravaging. It was a claiming kiss, a marking kiss. It was the passionate equivalent of his earlier proposal and I accepted it. I kissed back with just as much fervor, sliding my hands around his neck and into his loose mane of golden hair. It was softer than I imagined and I closed my fist in it tightly, not caring if I hurt him. I only wanted him to keep kissing me and harder. Neither of us were those who did things carefully or gently, not at least when there was something rougher and sweeter to be had.

His hands slid up my waist, bunching the material of my gown. One hand traced the curve of my breast, a thumb flicking across the peak and making me quake sharply. The other slid from my hair down my back and pulled me against him so my feet barely touched the ground. I could feel the hard length of his chest against mine. Without being fully aware of making the decision to do so, I slid my hands down and began to pull his tunic out from where it was tucked into his britches.

He broke the kiss and caught my hand as it began to slide into his tunic. "Lothíriel..." he said, voice a little lower and rougher than usual. "We need to stop."

"I don't want to."

He smiled at that. "Say you'll marry me then. I'll kiss you every night until you beg me to stop once you are my wife."

"Yes."

"You'll marry me?"

"Yes."

He kissed me again but his hands didn't move to my breasts and there was less raw emotion in it. It was still enough to make me feel giddy and drunk.

"We should return to the party. Your brother will notice that you're gone soon and so will others." He laughed. "If you're to be my wife and Queen, I shouldn't ruin your reputation by absconding with you at a party."

I tried to laugh but only managed a wobbly smile. There was a low, pleasurable ache in my head. I felt over stimulated and weak. Too much had happened too quickly for me to follow it. "I can't just yet. Please just let's sit together for a moment longer."

"All right."

Instead of moving to the stone bench, which was narrow and uncomfortable looking, he took the cloak from his shoulders. The night was warm and besides it was a ridiculous, ornate, overly formal thing. He spread it on the grass at the base of the statue and sat down with his back against the sloping curve of the base and then gestured for me to join him. I knelt, unsure of myself, but he took my hand and guided me to his side, folding me against him quite comfortably. My head fell into the crook of his neck and he looped one arm around my waist loosely. Had I been able to see us I'm sure the pose would have seemed quite scandalous to me but as it was it seemed that nothing in the world could have been more natural.

We sat together for a long moment without speaking.

"In the interest of fairness, it wasn't me who saw through you first. Gænwyn told me your secret months ago but I didn't really understand her until recently. It was just before were leaving to spend Beltane in Minas Tirith. You spent the whole morning ride talking about how excited you were to return to the city and see all your friends. Later when we were waiting for you to finish untacking Wind Chaser, you were still unpracticed, Lithoer remarked that she worried you wouldn't return after Beltane you were so eager to go. Gænwyn just laughed and said, 'I wouldn't worry about that. Whenever Lothíriel talks that much and that prettily about something I think you can be pretty sure that whatever she says, she means exactly the opposite. I don't think she wants to go to Minas Tirith at all!'"

I spluttered. "I don't do that! Let me see those letters again!"

"No, no, I won't have you throwing them into the fire! I intend to keep them as a fond remembrance of our courtship."

"Is that really how you intend to remember..." I began but he cut me off with a quick but somehow languid kiss. It was brief but when it was over I didn't protest when he drew me back down into his embrace.

"Do you remember in the stables at Aldburg when I threatened to switch some sense into you?"

"How could I forget? That was the first time you allowed me to ride Firefoot. I hope it won't be the last."

He ignored me. "If I'd known how well kissing works, I would have tried it on the spot."

I was in such a good mood I barely minded his condescending tone. "Yes, this does seem to have worked rather better for you, doesn't it? You're so clever to have figured it out."

He roared with laughter at that. "Oh, please don't say that! That's not at all the girl I fell in love with!"

"Miss my venom already?"

"Missed it for months now." He put a large hand on my arm, stroking it slowly and soothingly. He drew my hand up and pressed a slow kiss into my palm.

"I wish I were the person you think I am."

"You are. You're a worse actress than you think, my love."

"Say it again."

"What? That you're a worse..."

"No, the end part."

"My love. Lothíriel, my love. I should have kissed you that night I snatched the ribbon from your hair. I wanted to you know."

"Why didn't you?"

I felt him shrug. "You never gave the impression of wanting to be the Queen of Rohan."

"You thought I was indifferent to you?"

I felt his laugh as a small vibration in his chest. "I wouldn't say that. As I said, you are not the actress you think you are... I suppose I thought... but it doesn't matter now..."

"What?"

He stroked my hair and said nothing.

"What?" I repeated, more firmly.

"Well, before I kissed you I wasn't sure that you'd never had a lover before."

My fingers flew to my lips. When I was sixteen I had allowed two men to kiss me out of shear curiosity. Both had been chaste, awkward affairs that had left me wondering why anyone made such a big fuss over love-making. I hadn't experimented since. Had it been so obvious? "Did I do it wrong?"  
"Bema, woman how can you ask that?" he said. But he added more seriously, "And even if you were an abominable kisser it would still boil my blood to know that no one will ever make love to you but me."

To stop him from kissing me again, and distracting me I asked, "So? I have never had a lover. What of it?"

"It...It isn't necessarily true that all women who look at men the way you look at me have matrimony on their minds."

"You thought..."

"I thought it was possible," he said firmly. "If I thought anything was possible. I knew you well enough, even then, to know that you didn't have your sights on being the Queen of Rohan, no matter what you felt for me. And I would never have dared to dream that you felt so much.

"But I knew myself too well to think that I could have you by halves. As King of Rohan I've learned that sometimes compromise is best for a nation but as a man I have never truly learned to do it."

"So what I said that morning in the stables about a more casual arrangement..." I trailed off.

"It confirmed all my worst fears. And by then I felt very strongly for you. I should have known better though. What you said and what you did were completely incongruous and I knew you had a past with the court. I should have guessed you were being manipulated. I am sorry that I didn't help you, Lothi."

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter..."

"It does matter," he insisted. "I will never let you stand alone like that ever again. And I will never doubt your sincerity again. But you have to promise never to keep secrets like that from me. You are going to be my wife and that means that you have to let me into your counsel."

"Whatever you want from me, Éomer, it is yours. There is nothing in me that is only half yours," I promised. It was a silly thing to say but in the moment I said it with conviction. And I meant it. It was the truth and I said it with all the frankness that existed in me.

"Not yet. But you will be. Soon if I have anything to do with it. I'll speak with your father tomorrow."

"I don't want to talk about that right now. I don't want to think about what they're going to say about our engagement."

"I think they will say congratulations. You think your father will disapprove of me?"

"I think my father will disapprove of me. He likes you. He wouldn't want you saddled with me. But honestly I'm even more worried about what your sister will say."

Éomer laughed. "I will just have to show them both how very much I wish to be... saddled with you."

I shrugged, not yet ready to joke about it as he was.

"I can be very persuasive, Lothíriel," he said, voice low and persuasive. "Don't worry about your father. I'll take care of it. And Eowyn will grow to love you in her turn"

When I finally realized that my head wouldn't stop spinning for days and we had been gone for more than an hour we rose and Éomer shook out his cloak while I quickly re-braided my hair. "I'll ask your father tomorrow morning," Éomer said as he led us back through the maze and back into the light.

I nodded my agreement. Tonight was for Lithoer and Erchirion and I didn't want the news of our engagement to detract from that.

Back in the hall the light and noise seemed overwhelming. Gænwyn, clearly well in her cups, found us almost immediately. She glanced between us and then her face broke into such a joyous smile it was almost per force irreverent. She grabbed my hand and gave it a short kiss, grinning proudly at Éomer all the while. "Come, come, Lothíriel! You're missing the party! Éomer will have plenty of opportunity to dance with you later."

I let myself be led away into the throng. Gænwyn found me a glass of mead. I felt drunk enough already but I sipped it greedily. Then she pulled me out onto the floor and into a dance for just the maidens. The steps weren't complicated and I felt equal to any task. We whirled merrily about the floor and then collapsed together, laughing hysterically.

When that song was over Éomer and I danced but it was almost agony to be in his arms. The feeling of joy was so newborn there was an aspect of it that felt tender, fragile, like a newly stitched wound.

He had just released me from the first dance and we were coming back from the dance floor when I spied Amrothos in the crowd. I disentangled myself from Éomer's arm. "I will find you again in a moment."

He nodded. He had followed my gaze and knew where I was going. When he saw how studiously I was scrutinizing his face for signs of disapproval or anger he smiled gently. "Tell your brother there will be a hunt the day after tomorrow. I would be honored if he would ride in my party."

"He won't accept. Not unless you ask him in front of our father."

"Then he won't accept. But he is your kin and that means he will always be welcome in my hall."

The muscles of my throat tightened painfully and I couldn't speak for a moment. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "I intend to keep you my little viper. How can I expect to do that if I divide you from your nest?"

"I would build my own nest here."

"I hope you will. And soon. But for now, be sure to say hello to your brother."

I took Amrothos a flagon of mead, though he hadn't half finished the one he already had. "It's a lovely party."

"So it is. Erchirion looked very grand and his wife... I admit there is something quite charming about blond hair. A preference for it seems to run in my blood at any rate."

"I'm going to marry him."

"So I see. There is nothing more obvious than a woman in love, particularly when she's making as little effort to hide it as you are."

"I want us to be friends again."

He jerked his head to one side. "He will allow it?"

"There is a hunt in two days time; he wants you to ride in his party."

Amrothos' laugh could be as mean as a cold winter night but this one was soft and low. "Funny, I never took him for the forgiving type."

"He isn't."

"I hate hunting. And this mead and music are indifferent. I think I shall retire for the night."

I put my hand on his arm to forestall him. "I want us to be friends again," I repeated.

His face twisted in agony. "Lothi..." he said softly. "I never considered our friendship over."

"You'll ride with him?"

"No. But if he saw those letters and still wants to marry you I can see why you would accept. Savage or not, perhaps he is worthy of you. Maybe I'll even ride back to this cursed country to see you in whatever monstrosity of a dress you dream up between now and then."

"I will try not to disappoint."

"You almost never do."

I went back out and found Gænwyn again. The rest of the night passed in a blur. Éomer and I danced twice more and each time we did I felt a little more as if this weren't a dream I would wake from at any moment.

Finally, as the sun began to come up, I walked home with my father. "You looked very beautiful tonight, Daughter. As beautiful as your mother."

"Thank you, Father." I said. But I had barely heard the compliment; I was staring out over the fields of grass, transfixed by their beauty in the golden light of the morning.

Dawn was breaking in Rohan.

TBC?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Love as always to LBJ! XO Spake


	19. Chapter 19

"I heard that she told him she was with child, so that he felt honor bound to propose."

"Shocking though it is, I find that easier to believe than that he actually wants to marry her. He is so handsome, and a king! And she is nothing but a snake and a slut. The only thing that doesn't make sense is why he would lie with her in the first place."

"Well, that's simple enough. I would wager she got him so drunk he forgot himself."

In my concealed position in the stable stall, my head snapped up. I might have known they would have begun to talk about the engagement eventually. I chided myself; the whole damn court seemed to talk of nothing else these days. The voices of the two young ladies—I didn't recognize them— were fully audible in the stall, chattering as they were at full volume. My fingers twitched on the page, and I almost shut the book I had been engrossed in only seconds before. I wanted to blacken one of their eyes, at least verbally if not physically. Since they'd come in I had wanted to tell them to do their yammering someplace else and only been prevented from doing so by the fact that I had been lying in the hay for almost an hour and surely looked and smelled frightful.

I had been coming to the stables a lot in recent days. I hated the dirt and the muck everywhere, but the smell of the horses was the closest thing I could come to the smell of Rohan, (the smell of him). So I had taken to doing my reading stretched out on a blanket thrown over the hay in Nightwind's stall. Often she would come and lie down next to me to nap, and even allow me to rest my back or feet on her (though the latter usually made her give me what I felt was an indignant look). She was a constant and much-needed reminder—the living animal proof that I hadn't dreamed my engagement to Éomer. He had promised to be my husband and given me this unimaginably beautiful beast as a token.

"She is quite fair, I suppose. But no man in their right mind would want her for more than a night. She would be such a torment to live with, particularly to share a bed with."

"Well, if he was forced into the marriage, and since there is no question that she could be anything but absolutely terrifying in the bedchamber, I simply imagine that King Éomer will have to find...comfort with some other maiden. Finding a willing partner will surely be no difficult task for him."

"I might volunteer myself if I lived in Edoras."

My teeth ground together inaudibly. Nightwind raised her head and gave me a quizzical look. But just when I thought I could bear no more, I heard the only sound I wanted to hear less than their conversation: running footsteps that seemed to have a familiar, loping stride.

I shut my eyes against what I knew was coming next, but it did nothing to forestall it. There was a mumbled murmur of greeting to the two ladies and then the door of the stall I was in was flung open. "Ha! I knew you would be here! You're needed at the house, Lady Lothíriel!" Eadric almost shouted at me, clearly breathless and elated to have been so clever as to find me so quickly. "Come, come! Up to the citadel!"

With as much dignity as I could manage I rose and brushed off my skirts. Through the door I could see the two women, mouths agape in horror as they watched me stand and fold the cloth I had been laying on back up and tuck it neatly into the saddlebag hanging on the stall door. Nightwind got to her feet and nipped delicately at my cloak as I tried to leave the stall, a polite reminder that I was forgetting my manners. She knew as well as I did that I had an apple in my pocket for her that I had been saving as a parting gift. I fetched it out and gave it to her with a gentle caress around the ears. "Until tomorrow, darling." I told her in Rohirric. My only answer was the satisfying crunch of the apple.

Éomer had told me not to spoil my illustrious new mount as I had Wind Chaser, but I had only rolled my eyes. "I don't tell you how to manage your men, Éomer, you can't tell me how to manage my horse."

"Though I should never think to question you in matters of literature, my love, I am not sure that is quite analogous," he had replied with a smile.

I turned back from my horse to the present, ducking out of the stall as Eadric struggled mightily not to pull at my hand to get me to hurry up (as he might his older sister or a serving girl he was quite close to, but never his lady and mistress). Eadric had spoken to me in Rohirric but I answered him in Westron, which he spoke passably well after only two months in Gondor. "Yes, thank you for coming to collect me, Eadric."

For a moment I regarded the two young women who were sitting in stunned silence on the bench. Both were quite fair, a few years younger than I, and well dressed. Perhaps their fathers were minor lords, or attached to one of the noble houses. This must have been their first season at court (any experience would have told them to do their more interesting gossiping in a more private venue).

With Eadric there I knew I couldn't say any of the most vicious comments that came to mind but he would never be able to interpret correctly any of a thousand subtler jibes that came to mind. Instead, I ground my teeth together, and inclined my head slightly to them, making the barest acknowledgment of their presence. "Good afternoon, ladies."

"Good afternoon, Lady Lothíriel," one of them managed. To my immense pleasure her voice quavered very slightly on my name and both were quick to scramble to their feet and bob their respects.

I fought the impulse to introduce myself to them. Even if I never retaliated, asking their names would give them something to toss and turn over at night. Instead, I turned and offered Eadric my arm, allowing myself only a small smirk of pleasure at the stunned, terrified silence that followed us out of the stable.

"For what am I needed at the house?" I asked as our steps turned upward.

"I don't know, lady. The housekeeper only said that you had a visitor and that I should run to fetch you very quickly."

Eadric had been doing amazingly well in Gondor. When I had left Edoras five months ago and offered to take Eadric with me he had hesitated only to insist that I ask Éomer for his permission. He had become most indispensable to his king, he explained to me, and much as he might wish to see Gondor, he wouldn't want to leave Éomer without a squire. Éomer had very gravely assured him that, difficult though it might be to part with such a talented squire, he was glad for the boy to have the opportunity to learn the traditions, language and habits of his southern neighbors. He had also rewarded me for the offer by gracing me with a heart-stopping, affectionate smile when Eadric's face was averted.

After Erchirion's wedding I had been allowed to stay for a week after the main wedding party had left. It had been a glorious, delirious haze of a week. Ostensibly I had been tasked with helping Lithoer prepare her belongings for the trip to Dol Amroth, but I had been somewhat less helpful on that front than I had intended to be. Most of my time I had spent with Éomer. Bowing to Gondorain tradition, Éomer and I had agreed with my father's insistence that I return to Minas Tirith for a half-year engagement to set my affairs in order and prepare my troth. Despite this, I had the sense that, in the eyes of the court at Edoras, we were practically as good as married. Certainly none of our supposed guardians seemed to spend too much time or effort keeping us from being alone together.

Every day we rode out together in the afternoon or early morning and spent the time talking and teasing each other. For someone who had always been so meticulously scrupulous with her reputation, I found myself shocked at how little I cared about raising a scandal. Though I knew if a story ever got back to Minas Tirith that we had ridden alone for so long unsupervised it would be quite talked about. But once Gænwyn had assured me that I was within the bounds of Rohirric propriety, I found I didn't give a fig for the social conventions I had been raised with.

Sometimes we would stop in some promising clearing and I would read while Éomer went bow hunting nearby with his dogs. When he came back with his prize he would usually consent to join me on my blanket while I told him about what I had been reading. He often put his head on my lap and even consented to let me braid his hair, which I thought was hilarious, but he found uninteresting. I was fascinated by his hair. All the men I knew wore their hair cropped short and I was pleased to find that his was as smooth and silky as mine. When I said as much though, he laughed at me. "What did you expect, Lothíriel? That it would be made of straw?"

One afternoon in particular we'd brought a picnic lunch and spread a blanket out in a clear space on a heathland about an hour's ride from Edoras. When Éomer had lay me back gently and pushed my skirt over my hips so he could slip a hand between my legs, just where the strange, undefined ache was most poignant, I had thought to lose my maidenhead right out in the open under the sky. But when I had found my crisis he had arranged the fabric carefully back over my legs and kissed me gently. "Why have you stopped? Éomer, why have you stopped?"

"People know how many months there are between a wedding and a birth, Lothíriel," he'd replied gently, stroking my sweat-streaked brow. "I can wait to have you."

In my heightened state I hardly could speak, much less argue cogently and it had felt such a damning rejection I had rolled onto my side away from him, curling fingers into the wild grass of the heath as heat rose in my throat. He had followed me, one hand around my waist and the other tangling in my hair, to prevent me from moving too far from him. "Oh valar, how I hate you just now."

Kissing my neck as he was, I felt his smile. "Somehow I think you may forgive me."

"Never for smiling, but just now," I murmured.

"Oh? Was that unkind of me?" He had changed then from interlacing in my hair to smoothing it gently, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down on me. "I apologize in that case. How can I make it up to you?"

My eyes had snapped around to glare up at him. "You're making fun of me."

"No, dearest viper. Guess again."

I had regarded him for a full moment before answering. He gazed down at me without looking away, his long hair down over his shoulders. In the bright sun it gleamed like spun gold. I put a hand to his chin, cupping his smooth beard, and thoughtfully traced the outline of his soft smile. I had discovered only a few days before the secret of the devilish, boyish nature of his smiles: two small, mischievous dimples at the corners of his mouth, hidden by his beard.

"Against all odds and decency I find that you are...pleased with me," I ventured.

"Yes... although I shouldn't say against the odds. And I will leave the decency to be judged by you."

I had waited a full moment—though I knew better than to expect him to offer anything freely—before summoning the courage to force out, "and why is that exactly?"

"Why am I pleased with you?"

The unabashed torturer. "Yes, why are you pleased with me?"

"More pleased with you than usual you mean?"

At that I had tried to push him off, but he resisted, curling his fingers tighter against my waist and laughing – "Peace, peace, Lothíriel, peace!"— until I stopped struggling. Then he had leaned down and whispered against my ear, "I am pleased with you because when I kiss you, you stop trying to hide from me. You're such a wild little thing, trying your damnedest to wriggle away before I catch you. But when I make love to you, I can see right down to your soul and you come apart in my hands."

But those languid, carefree days had passed months ago.

I had returned first to Dol Amroth and then, more reluctantly, to Minas Tirith to buy my troth and visit my father. Amrothos and I had talked for a long while in our own fashion about his returning to the city. But in the end I had managed to convince him, in my own round-about way, to stay with Lithoer and Erchirion in the castle at the edge of the Bay of Belfalas they had taken as their hearth. It had been a blow to lose him as a companion. Never had I felt more alone in the city. Harra didn't bother me. She never missed an opportunity to flash me Éomer's bracelet when we met, but she didn't take it any farther than that. My father and I dined together almost every night and I valued the affection growing between us, but my days were lonely, cold and dreary.

It had been easy to believe that Éomer loved me when he was near enough to kiss, but the days without him were full of doubt. Rationally I knew that we were engaged, that he was an honorable man, that he had no reason to lie to me when he told me that he loved me. But the irrational part of my brain danced with farmers' daughters and tavern wenches – each more blond and beautiful and willing than the last – and the memory of all that I had said and done to hurt him.

I wrote to Éomer often and he had surprised me by writing back almost as frequently. He was a good correspondent: keeping me abreast of all the news he knew would interest me, but his letters never spoke of the things I most wanted to know. He mentioned that he had been called again to the west of the country to deal with the Wild Men but not if he had been hurt in the fighting. He spoke of the harvest and repairs to various cities, but never mentioned his own pleasure and joy in the work. He recounted that he had dined with such-and-such a lord, but not if his daughter was fair or plain.

I had wasted a shocking amount of paper by starting letters to Éomer with some variation of "are you intending to frustrate me with your refusal to pay attention to the details of your life that I am most interested in?" and then having to throw the whole effort into the fire. He had enough letters I was ashamed of already and while we were apart I did not intend to remind him of all the reasons he had not to trust me.

Yule came and went. Through a lot of subtle pleading I managed to convince my father to take us back to Dol Amroth for the celebration, and so it was a happy one. Éomer sent me a new saddle as my Yule present and I sent him one of the curved Haradrim daggers that were found with some searching in the south of Gondor. It was a mild winter, so Erchirion, Lithoer and I amused ourselves by taking a dip in the bay in the morning. "I can't believe it is so warm!" Lithoer crowed when she finally flung herself out onto the sand.

And I kept busy with my troth. The wedding was to be an enormous affair, of course, and my father, as well as King Elessar, had determined to fit me out with what even I was beginning to feel was an excessive amount of bridal wear. The wedding feast would last three days, but I was to have dozens of new dresses and a profusion of new underthings and so many winter clothes they might well last me the rest of my life if I wasn't concerned with changing fashions.

I was, after all, to be a representative of Gondor in Rohan. The king's advisors and my father were adamant that I not be a disappointment to my new subjects. I had considered pointing out that as much of the country already knew of, or had even seen me, my reputation was already begun, if not finished. But in the end I had decided instead to simply accept the inevitable without comment. A new queen and a visiting lady were not equivalent, I reminded myself when I saw the first samples, and a finely dressed new queen would be a point of pride for both countries.

Eadric and I came to the house through the gate at the bottom of the garden instead of the main entrance, passing through the kitchen so I could have a quick drink of water and go to my room to change before meeting my guest. When I arrived I was surprised to find that Feleas was waiting for me already, looking quite distressed. "Oh, my lady, I'm glad you've come so quickly. Hurry now, hurry!"

"Hello, Feleas. What is the matter? Who is the visitor?"

"It's the White Lady, my lady! Now come! Come quickly and we'll get you changed and perfumed!"

Even as my footsteps picked up to a near-run, my blood ran cold. Éowyn had been in Ithilien since my return and I had not heard of her coming to the city. She must have arrived in Minas Tirith quite recently. "Is my cousin with her?" Though I wasn't sure that Faramir could exactly be counted as an ally—not after what he had seen me do to Winweld—I was sure he could at the very least be counted on to be less angry with me than his wife.

"No, my lady. She came only with her nursemaid."

In my room I hastily stripped and splashed some water on my face, neck and under my arms before Feleas helped me into a fresh dress and daubed some perfume on my neck and wrists. She also quickly brushed and rebraided my hair. "There's no time for anything elaborate, my lady," she said wistfully as she twisted it up and secured it with a few pins.

"This will suit quite well."

Down in the hallway I hesitated for a moment before opening the door. Though perhaps I should have been, I wasn't arranging my thoughts or my counter arguments to what she might say. I wasn't preparing a carefully worded apology either for there could be no defense of my actions or explanation. I was simply fighting the urge to run away. Or at the very least go to back to my room, get into my bed and insist that I had suddenly been struck too ill to see anyone. With the greatest reluctance, I pushed open the door.

She was sitting on the couch with a bundle of blankets in her lap, a single tiny hand protruding as it grasped one of her fingers. She looked radiant as she looked into the face of her child, but as she looked up at me, her expression chilled immeasurably. I gave her a courteous nod of the head. "Well met, Lady Éowyn."

"Well met, Lady Lothíriel."

I came and settled on the couch, arranging my skirts with a swift sweep of my hands. "Would you like some tea?" I gestured to the tea and scones laid out before her. "There is also some quite good pie in the kitchens as well if that could tempt you."

"No thank you, the scones will suffice."

I poured us each a cup of tea and one for the nursemaid as well, though as soon as I had placed the cup in front of her Éowyn said. "Andil, would you mind taking Elboron out into the garden for some fresh air while Lady Lothíriel and I talk?"

The nurse bowed, and took the child gently. I wanted to see Elboron very much and had to resist the urge to ask or crane my neck as he was carried past. Instead I sipped my tea and tried not to look at my soon-to-be sister-in-law.

For a full moment she regarded me while I used every measure of my upbringing not to squirm in my seat like a naughty child. I thought of the girls that I had so recently needled in the stables in much the same way. At the time I had considered it a mild punishment but now I wished I could have taken it back. Finally I put down my tea and said, "I hear that the weather in Ithilien has been quite unseasonably warm recently. Is this true?"

She did not bother to answer me. "My brother has written to me with an account of your behavior. He says that you were coerced into refusing his first offer and that you acted to protect him from a scandal, even at the cost of great danger to your own reputation as well as personal pain."

"That is a very generous characterization of what happened. But your brother is a generous man."

"Yes, he is. Particularly when a very beautiful young maiden is telling him something that he very much wants to hear."

I said nothing. My head was beginning to ache slightly.

"I find, Lady Lothíriel, that I must speak plainly. I hope you will forgive me. I have come at the urging of my brother as well as your cousin. But though I have promised to come, I have not promised to make up my mind towards you favorably. We are to be family and I know it is very much my brother's wish that we be friends I will not and cannot conceal my feelings from you, Lady Lothíriel."

She did not need to state the nature of her feelings; they were quite plainly written on her brow.

My next words were as difficult to find as they were to pronounce. I wanted to tell Éowyn that if she had not believed her own brother's version of the tale had I any right to expect she would believe mine? The test she had set me was one that was designed for me to fail, and I resented her for it. I wanted too to remind her that I didn't need her permission. Éomer had asked me to marry him and I had accepted. What she felt about that was her own business and if her feelings were unfavorable she need not have bothered to stop by to let me know.

And most of all I did not want to speak such a painful truth so plainly. It had been difficult enough to tell Éomer this story: Éowyn and I were practically strangers and she had no reason to love me. When Éomer had come to my room to apologize the vulnerability of his sincerity had left me cold and shaken. But now it was my turn to offer my own tender weakness so obscenely exposed and it came far less naturally to me than it had to him.

"By the time your brother asked me to marry him I don't think there was a girl in Middle Earth who had ever been so in love with a man as I was with him. It took me longer than it should have to fall in love with him, and longer still to recognize it. But even I had grown wise by then. But he had been threatened... and threatened in a way in which he is very vulnerable. If the court had turned on him, he would not have been able to protect himself. A blow to his honor..."

"My brother's honor is beyond question!" she cut in coldly.

"To anyone who knows him of course it is. But the court, as I am sure you are aware, has many prejudices. It has become unfashionable to speak of them but attitudes change much more slowly than their most overt expressions. A story about a bastard son would have been widely believed and he and Rohan would have suffered."

"Even if that is true why did you not simply explain that to Éomer at the time?"

I let out a humorless laugh at that. "What is it you imagine he would have done if I had? Do you imagine that your brother would consent to be dictated to in that way? Do you think your brother would not think of a woman that he loved, and who loved him in return, as falling under the domain of his protection? Perhaps you know him better than I, but I found that I could not imagine that he would not have felt me bound to him, and he bound to me. He would not have allowed me to do what needed to be done to avoid the scandal."

"So your solution was to spread the rumors of Lady Winweld's pregnancy to the south?"

"She was at that time quite visibly with child. Though perhaps knowledge of her state could have been somewhat contained, there was no one at court by that time who doubted her condition. The damage to her reputation had already been done. Though I only later became her friend, I acted in part to save her from unhappiness as well... or perhaps it is more fair to say that I would not have done what I did if I had felt that she would suffer greatly from it."

My guest raised and incredulous eyebrow at that. "You claim to have acted out of benevolence then? A self-sacrificing benevolence even, since you alone seem to have suffered in this tale?"

"I have never acted out of self-sacrificing benevolence in my life and can foresee no possibility that I ever would. But I would not agree to marry your brother only to watch him suffer on my account. I am neither strong enough nor indifferent enough to endure that."

At that Éowyn let out a long sigh and picked up her tea. She regarded me for a long moment. "You are not the wife I would have imagined Éomer to choose, and farther still from the one I would have hoped he would. I am sorry to offend or cause pain, but I cannot remain silent when my brother's happiness is involved."

"Nor would I wish you to."

She passed a hand wearily over her face. "But Éomer has always known his own mind. He has chosen you and how can I claim to love him if I will not trust him to choose his own wife? I am satisfied at least that you intend to try to make him happy. I will not say that I am completely at my ease but if Éomer has given you his heart, I must try to give you mine. If you will consent, come embrace me, sister."

Though the embrace was somewhat formal, lasting no longer than she might have touched a hot coal, I came away from it feeling a certain tightness in my throat. The White Lady had called me sister. Éowyn might often forget the story for which she was famous, but I never would.

"You do not seem to be enjoying your tea, Lady Éowyn," I said to cover my emotion. "Might I propose instead to show you the gardens? They are not so fine this time of year as they are in the full blush of summer but there are still some roses on the bushes and quite fine paths as well."

We did not walk arm-in-arm as we strolled through the gardens but neither did an oppressive silence fall over us. The preparations for the trip and the wedding gave us plenty to speak of and I seized willingly on this. When we met up with the nurse again she allowed me to hold Elboron, a fat, handsome little babe with his father's dark hair and eyes but his mother's fierce, fine features.

Staring into his gurgling little face I couldn't help but wonder what my own children would look like. "Hello there, my little gentleman," I cooed at my future nephew. "How do you like my garden?"

He smiled and tried to grab my nose with a chubby fist.

His mother smiled at him. "I am glad he is such a healthy baby, strong enough to make the trip to Edoras to see his uncle and his mother's homeland, even if he remembers neither."

"Éomer will be overjoyed to see his nephew, as will all of Edoras, I am sure."

Though we saw each other often after that, Éowyn did not call upon me again. She and Faramir dined occasionally with my family and she came often to help me prepare my troth, which was generous, if expected of her as my future sister-in-law. Her attitude towards me was one of carefully prescribed respect. She was generous and helpful in all of her duties and even laughed at my jokes and seemed to enjoy my company to some extent. But she was never quite easy and certainly never affectionate with me. When we parted she embraced me, but without feeling. For Éomer's sake she had said that she would try to love me, but, much as she tried, she was struggling.

Would she ever forgive what I had done to her brother?

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to you if you read! Double love to you if you review! Thanks and love to LBJ for all the help making this story what it is! XO Spake


	20. Chapter 20

Though it seemed not to, time did pass and one morning we began to assemble our group for the journey to Edoras. When he left Rohan Amrothos had decided to travel with Erchirion and Lithoer to their new home. In theory he had gone to help them settle into their chosen home (a charming castle right on the shore of the Bay of Belfalas) but there had been no talk of when he might leave there. Without being told any specifics the family had known he might never return to Minas Tirith and, quietly, my father had sent most of his belongings on to him.

A week before we were due to leave Éowyn left the city to travel to Edoras, and Lithoer arrived from the south. Erchirion and Amrothos arrived only the night before we were to depart. Our trunks were packed and loaded into carts. I sent one final letter to Éomer. I didn't think it would reach him much before me but I was far too alive with an excited, nervous energy to sleep, despite the fact that I had stayed up quite late to have a glass of wine with my brothers.

The next morning we rode out before dawn. Though I hadn't slept much I was in a fine mood on the back of Nightwind, with Amrothos on one side and Erchirion and Lithoer on the other. Lithoer and I had been nearly inseparable since she had arrived but we had not quite exhausted ourselves of each other. I had kept her quite busy trotting her around to various gatherings and calling on numerous acquaintances. Since I would likely not be there myself the next time she visited Minas Tirith (and though she had passed by on her way to her new home, this was the first time she had spent appreciable time in her new capital city) I wanted her to have female friends to call upon. I had introduced her to all of the best women I knew of, and made it clear to the worst that I would do everything I could to make them miserable if they so much as breathed a spiteful word about her.

She had been an utter success, but it had not left us much time for her to tell me about her new life in Gondor, so as we rode she remedied that. She kept me laughing while she recounted some of her misadventures whilst learning to swim and steer a boat. "Erchirion thinks I will always do the wrong thing and run the little craft aground, but really it isn't as hard as he makes it out to be," she assured me with a pointed glance at her husband.

"You have run the boat aground twice so far darling wife! And though you are welcome to do it again, I only fear that one day you will do it so very well that I won't be able to push us back off."

Her Westron had much improved. It had always been good, but even in the few short months her accent had faded considerably and she was using some idioms that I remembered from my childhood in my father's princedom, but had long since fallen out of the habit of using.

"Erchirion was never a very strong sailor anyway from what I recall. It sounds like he's no better as a teacher. I should find another one if I were you," I advised her.

"No, I think not," my brother cut in quickly. "She is so busy these days setting up her keep and making scores of new friends and good impressions each day that I barely get to see her as it is. If she learns from another, I may well never see her again!"

I let out a huff of feigned disbelief. "Only a man would have the audacity to say such a thing! Do not pity him unless you choose to, Lithoer. If he cannot teach you to sail properly do not allow him to make you believe you owe him the chance to teach you at all."

She smiled, and rewarded him with a fond smile. "He shall do for now I think."

Amrothos spoke little of his time in Dol Amroth directly but I was surprised to find that he had enjoyed it. He spoke as condescendingly as he rightly could as a guest in Erchirion and Lithoer's home, but I knew him well enough to look past his words. He seemed awake for the first time since the night I had met Harra in the library. During our travels in Rohan he had seemed a man suspended. Even the violent act of sending the letters with Éomer he seemed to have done in a dream.

But now... now he seemed at least a shadow of his old self. He teased me and even Lithoer, though not unkindly. I was pleased to see that my new sister-in-law only laughed at him when he took to teasing her.

When I quizzed him on it one evening in his tent he had simply shrugged. "I read some. I swam some. You remember what people do in Dol Amroth. I didn't invent anything new."

"What did you enjoy most?"

"Peace from your incessant questioning."

"Lithoer told me that you showed her how to use an abacus and you're teaching her to read and do sums."

"She asked me to."

"And did you?"

He blew out an irritated breath of air. "Well I hardly had anything better to do, did I? There isn't exactly an overabundance of society floating around that castle!"

"I'm proud of you, Amrothos."

"That is excellent. I will thank you to find some silent way of expressing it."

We reached the Mering Stream on the afternoon of the fourth day of our journey. To my surprise from far off we could see the shape of tents, enough for a large camp, along the far edge of the stream. My heart beat hard against my chest when I saw that. I had expected to find Éomer at Edoras. Was it possible that he had come to meet me at his border instead? Erchirion looked at me quickly but seemed to know that I did not want my hope spoken aloud, lest it be disappointed. Lithoer too said nothing as we drew interminably closer.

When I saw a group of horses break away from the camp though, I knew he was among them. Only Éomer would be so presumptuous as to meet me—not to mention King Elessar and my father—on our own soil. By the time he rode into view, my cheeks already burned from smiling.

Never in my life would I grow used to seeing him after a long separation, but in those early days the effect was particularly striking because I didn't know to expect it. Though I knew how foolish I must look I found I couldn't take my eyes from him as he drew nearer. How had I forgotten how tall he was? How well he rode? To greet his guests he had dressed formally—a dark green vest over a black tunic embellished with the White Horse of Rohan and even his thin golden crown on his brow. His blond hair was a little longer than I remembered and shone like wheat. He had found me in the crowd by the time I drew near enough to see his face and the smile he gave me made my flesh prickle pleasantly

He greeted King Elessar and my father first, bowing to each in turn and welcoming them quite formally to his lands in a clear voice for the benefit of the whole group. All three then dismounted and he walked over to shake their hands and express his sentiments of welcome as a friend rather than king and dignitary. When the welcomes were finished and exchanged, Elessar and my father moved back to their horses but he walked into the throng of horses, cutting deftly straight for me. Heat rose in my cheeks and though I was overwhelmingly aware of the eyes of the entire party on the two of us, I could not bring myself to break gaze with him.

"Well met, Lady Lothíriel."

I offered him my hand and he kissed it as he had the morning that he had proposed to me that first time, turning it over quickly and dropping the kiss into my palm instead of the flat of the back.

"Well met, Éomer King."

He nodded once to Lithoer, Amrothos and Erchirion and then went back to his horse, leaving me feeling both empty and supremely heated, mortified with embarrassment and thoroughly pleased.

He rode with King Elessar and my father of course as we made our way to their camp at the stream. It was decided that we would take the opportunity to rest there for the night and so our tents were set up and water heated for us to refresh ourselves. Éomer had likewise prepared a feast in our honor, though I was not permitted to sit beside him. When we arrived in Edoras I would be treated as the presumptive queen but for the moment I was still only my father's daughter and the least important of his children. I sat where I always did in our party: the farthest to the edge and nearly half the length of the table from Éomer. For a while I kept trying to lean either far enough forward or backward in my chair to catch his eye but gave up once Amrothos fixed me with a pointed stair and asked if I was trying to make myself sea sick.

I waited for him to come to my tent that night. He had given me no reason to hope, but I made sure that my hair was plaited as prettily as possible and then I arranged my skirts becomingly on my bed and pretended to read my book. Just the night before I had found it quite engrossing, but now my eyes skimmed over the page with no real comprehension. The words seemed obscured by the pounding in my heart and the new, fresh images of him I had.

After an hour I gave up and went to put on my shoes.

It was a moment similar to the one in the garden when I had gone over the wall to walk through the lower city—a moment of stepping out into a darkness that had nothing to do with the poised, ladylike indifference in which I had spent so many years schooling myself. But unlike that other night, this time there was no hesitation. As soon as my shoes were on I pushed back my tent flap and walked out.

The camp was mostly asleep. There were still some men gathered around the fires but they were few (only the very drunkest remained now). It occurred to me suddenly to wonder if Éomer would be among them. He was, after all, no stranger to mead, I knew, and it was somewhat traditional for grooms to indulge some of their wilder impulses in the days preceding their nuptials.

I walked quickly through the camp but without going out of my way to avoid attention. Until the last moment there was no reason for anyone to suspect I wasn't walking to Amrothos' or Erchirion's tents and I knew how well the trick of unabashed brazenness could work in passing unremarked. I paused for only a moment outside of Éomer's tent, listening for voices, before quickly ducking in.

He was seated on his bed cleaning his sword but looked up immediately when I entered. The look of mingled shock and instantaneous desire evident in his features was exactly as pleasing as I hoped it would be. "Bema, Lothíriel you shouldn't…"

But he got no farther because I had crossed the room quickly and drawn his lips to mine. Both my hands tangled in his hair as I kissed him gently first and then with more passion. I had forgotten how incongruously soft his mouth was. For a man so used to shouting orders or blowing a battle horn how was it possible that his lips seemed only to find their true purpose in a kiss?

Not letting go of him, I sat down on the bed next to him as he quickly slid the sword to one side and leaned our foreheads together. My eyes closed, breathing in the smell of him and listening to the sound of his breath. "Valar but I've missed you," I murmured in a shuddering breathy voice I almost didn't recognize as my own.

He moved to get up but I held him steady. "Only let me wash my hands. I want to hold you properly."

"In a moment."

I kissed him twice more: soft, chaste little kisses that never became anything more but somehow conveyed the desperation I had felt in the past months. But mostly I just breathed against him and let the scent and feel and warmth of him permeate me as deeply as I could.

When I finally drew back I felt unexpectedly shy. I hadn't hesitated on my way to his tent but now that I was there and the impulse to kiss him—which had been consuming my thoughts most of the day—was at least partially satiated, it seemed ridiculous that I had come. I pressed one final kiss to his lips but then wouldn't meet his eyes. We hadn't been troth-plighted long and most of that time we'd spent apart. Now that I was his betrothed perhaps he would evaluate me a little more sternly? Would he find me less beautiful than he remembered? Would he think me foolish and wanton to have come?

He stood and carefully arranged the sword in its scabbard before moving to a small basin and carefully washing the grit off his hands. He carefully rolled his sleeves up as well, folding the cloth back so only bright, untainted cloth was exposed. But he stood back, hesitating, to my dismay. I toyed with my skirt nervously.

"You're displeased that I came?" I hadn't meant it to be a question, nor to allow my voice to be so apparently vulnerable.

"Hardly. Though I had hoped to spend a little more time with you in public before we saw each other alone again. For all your intelligence, Lothíriel I am convinced you have no idea of the effect you have on me. Being allowed to kiss you takes some getting used to."That brought my head up and the naked, open hunger in his expression brought a coy little grin to my lips. He groaned. "No need to look so pleased. My blood doesn't know whether to run cold or boil when you smile like that."

"Is it not meant to be me who is getting used to kissing you? Given that you have so much more experience with such matters."

"In the case of most maids I'm sure it would be, but you seem to have taken to it quite naturally." He cocked one eyebrow and pressed his lips together as if trying not to laugh. "I suppose it isn't the first time that I've thought I should have paid more attention to what Gænwyn was trying to tell me about you."

"I'm sure I haven't the least idea to what you are referring," I said, idly tapping a single tooth with a fingernail.

"I am sure you haven't, tenderest flower of innocence that you are. I only meant that when you came in I was unsure if you were real or still part of my imagination. You can't know how many times I've thought about you coming in just as you did to kiss me these past months...this past year really. You still don't seem quite like something I'm allowed to have."

I looked back down so he wouldn't see my face contort in pain. I knew exactly how he felt. My time in Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth had seemed to pass almost in a dream, with elements of my fantasies about Éomer so present and unrelenting that they almost seemed like memories instead of fancies. I had dreamed of him often enough, usually waking sweaty and frustrated, and daydreamed of him almost constantly. It was my fault too that he felt so unsure of me. He had at least been constant and clear in his feelings for me. "You know you can have me, Éomer. Anytime you want."

"For now, little viper I just want to hold you."

He opened his arms and I went and allowed myself to be folded into his embrace. I placed my head against his chest and listened to his heartbeat, letting my cheek soak up his warmth and breathing in deeply the smell of him, that strange mixture of pine trees, horses and leather that somehow reminded me of both home and adventure at once. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head and we stood there for another moment in silence. "Bema but you smell nice. Like vanilla and tea and parchment."

"Can't we go and sit back on the bed?"

"No, we cannot! A better man would have sent you home to your tent when you arrived, but I am not so low as to sit with you on my bed."

I pulled back so I could show him my look of displeasure and scorn. "Éomer, I hardly think that after that trip out to the heath sitting together on a bed..."

"That trip out to the heath was a liberty I never should have taken with you in the first place. And certainly not something that we will be repeating in a camp so full of Gondorian nobles, among whom number your father and king." He laughed. "At that time I believe I was still laboring under the assumption that at some point your Gondorian upbringing would assert itself and you would tell me that I had gone too far. Since then I have learned to be slightly more distrustful of the prudish morals that I was told should have been instilled in you. I have been thoroughly disillusioned since."

"If there is disillusionment to be had, I assure you it's a shared burden. I was always told that if I ever dared provoke a man with even the smallest fraction of the temptation I've given you he would surely ravish me without a second thought and despite my protestations. "

Provokingly, he roared with laughter at that. "Are you disappointed that I haven't yet ravished you, little viper?" he asked when my glaring finally sobered him.

I tossed my hair. "Supremely disappointed in my education at least. My tutors always assured me that men, sufficiently aroused, are like beasts and cannot be held responsible for their actions."

At that he frowned deeply. "You tutors were fools then. Men who believe they cannot be held responsible for what they do in a fit of passion are beasts, Lothíriel and should be treated as such. Surely you don't think me capable of..."

I shook my head, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "You would never hurt me. No matter what provocation I gave you."

"No sooner than I could cut off my own sword hand. You are mine, little viper and I intend to keep you close. Never doubt that I should very much like to, as you so poetically put it, 'ravish' you. No man could ever desire a woman more than I desire you but that desire is not my master and never shall be."

He allowed me to play with a single flaxen strand of his hair that hung down over his shoulder. "I do not mean to tempt you so cruelly," I said softly, unable to meet his eyes. "You're right of course that it is madness for me to have come. To risk a scandal now, even a minor one, is so foolish. And yet I found that I had to come... I missed you, Éomer, while we were apart. I am sorry to be so wretchedly provoking, but I had to see you."

He laughed. "You are not provoking, my love. Or rather you are, very much so, but I am very glad you came. I only must make it through the next five days without allowing myself to dishonor you unduly. Once we are married I assure you that you will need to give me little enough provocation."

Though it was madness Éomer insisted on accompanying me back to my tent and in a fit of equal rashness, I gave him one last kiss before slipping inside. I lay in my bed for a long time before I dropped off to sleep, one hand resting gently on my lips.

It took us two days riding to reach Edoras and though by custom we were separated during the riding and at mealtimes we did manage to see each other some. On the morning of the second day we went down to the nearby stream to take our breakfast together. Once the bread and cheese were gone we talked for a while. I sat on a fallen log and he leaned against a tree: a rare moment of indulgent inactivity on a long ride.

I made light of my time in Minas Tirith, skating over the unpleasantness of my stay there and he told me a little bit of what he had been doing in my absence. I wanted to talk to him about Éowyn, to ask what account she'd given of my behavior during our absence, but I knew better. Painful though it was, I would need to build my relationship with my sister-in-law on my own. Talking to one sibling about the other would do more harm than good in the long term.

"I hope you will not feel insulted but I have asked Gænwyn to come to stay with us at Meduseld for a few months and help you settle into your position as its mistress."

I almost laughed at that. "I would have assumed she would come, asked or not!"

Now it was his turn to laugh. "She did seem rather affronted that there was a question that she would not. I think her exact words were 'and who else did you think would teach her to be a proper wife and queen to you, Éomer son of Éomund?'"

"You were lucky to escape without a rap on the knuckles for cheek I should say."

"Being king does sometimes have the occasional benefit."

"I shall be glad of her help of course," I mused. "I should like to try to be a proper wife to you and mistress of your hall."

"Well, I am glad to hear that two days before we are to wed."

I ignored him. "And should I fail at that, I find Gænwyn to be a very companionable drinking partner and that I have to do just as well as her."

"It is very wise to have a contingency plan to fall back upon... Though I think somehow you will not need yours."

"Gænwyn has never failed yet at as my teacher."

"Nor you as her pupil. Even a teacher such as Gænwyn must have a willing and capable student. Your intelligence does you as much credit as her."

"Oh come now. Those kinds of compliments may have been acceptable when we were courting, Éomer but now that we are to be married you really must stop. People will suspect you of either being a fool or having a dalliance if you moon over your own wife like that."

"Someday, Lothíriel you will come to see yourself as I do and you may be angry when you find that all my remarks you counted as compliments were merely the truth. Until that day however I am perfectly happy for you to think me a love-struck fool."

"You sound like Winweld when you prattle on like that."

"And you sound like just the querulous maid I fell in love with."

We were met at the city gates of Edoras by what I estimated to be every single person who could possibly be spared from work, all garlanded in their finest clothing. We were cheered from the moment we drew within earshot of the walls to the steps of Meduseld. I had never been cheered before and found the sound and sensation unexpectedly overwhelming. It seemed to fill my ears like the roar of the sea, making me feel like I was underwater. Lithoer touched my arm and smiled, saying something to me, but I found I couldn't hear her. I just smiled back, feeling unexpectedly disorientated. I had been in screaming crowds before of course but somehow it was very much different when they were screaming for me.

At the top of the steps Gænwyn and Éowyn were waiting for us. Éowyn holding the welcome cup and Gænwyn the jug of mead. As I mounted the steps Gænwyn beamed down at me and only the solemnity of the occasion prevented her from embracing me as I passed her by to be given my ceremonial welcome from Éowyn.

Then of course King Elessar and Éomer addressed the crowd and finally we were allowed to enter the hall. As soon as the doors shut behind us Gænwyn swooped me up in a hug, almost spilling the jug down my dress. "Westuhál, Lothíriel! Oh, Bema be blessed you're back for good!"

"Westuhál, Gænwyn I'm very happy to see you!"

She looked me up and down for a moment but reserved judgment until she had shown me to my rooms and we were alone (I was far too skinny and pale and positively wilting without Éomer, though he was sure to cheer me back up directly).

My greeting from Éowyn was, of course, markedly less enthusiastic. She embraced me in my turn and told me where my rooms were, as she did with all the guests, but the distance between us was unchanged and even more exquisitely painful for Éomer's having witnessed it. She let Gænwyn be the one to help me organize my trunks to be brought in.

I would sleep in a temporary room that night with only what I deemed necessary. Most of my clothes and belongings would be moved into the Queen's chambers, which I would inhabit the next night and I watched them go with a certain feeling of resentment. It seemed unfair that they should get to spend the night in their new homes when I could not.

My temporary quarters were fine however and a hot bath was waiting for me when I arrived. I sank into it gratefully but found myself unexpectedly disheartened. The fatigue of the ride, and the reserve Éowyn had shown me had left me feeling deflated. There would of course be a welcome feast, I would even be permitted to finally sit next to Éomer, but I found, as I sat in my bath, I would have rather simply stayed in my rooms.

I had not considered that Meduseld was still more Éowyn's than mine and how different it might feel when she was home. I trailed my fingers in the bath and flicked the surface of the water halfheartedly. I drew my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. She had given me no overt slight of course—her hospitality had been very correct—but her feelings toward me, uncomfortable as they had been in Minas Tirith, now felt even more oppressive.

I was grateful that she had consented to call me sister, that she was making an effort to love me for Éomer's sake. And yet... it was that Éowyn was his only family. His mother and father, aunt uncle and cousin had all perished: an entire family dwindled down to a brother and sister. I knew something of what that felt like. Though our family had been still living, Amrothos and I had, for a period of years, felt like lone survivors. I didn't fear that she would change Éomer's mind—he was far too independent for that—but I could imagine how painful his sister's tacit disapproval must be for him. I didn't want to be the source of discord between the two of them.

Gænwyn came to brush out and help me style my hair herself when I had finished bathing. She approved of the small pearled comb and matching pins I had selected but frowned when she saw the dress I had chosen. It was a light blue, the color of my father's house, but cut in the style popular in Rohan, with a simpler, slimmer skirt. "You should wear something in the Gondorian style tonight," she remarked, going to my closet to look.

"I don't mind that style," I reminded her. "After all, I wore it for months the last time I was here."

"People have come from all corners of the Riddermark to see the new Gondorian princess. They are very proud that you're a lady from Minas Tirith and they're expecting you to look the part. They don't want to see a style of dress that their own local nobles wear every Yule."

"You don't think I will look too... vain?"

I was thinking of how uncomfortable I had felt several times in my Gondorian clothes, which tended toward lace, beads, silk and bright colors more easily than was common in Rohan.

She gave a pointed look at my closet: only a fraction of my clothes and it was almost bursting from the wardrobe. "Oh Lothi, I'm afraid to say that the time to worry about vanity may have already passed you by. There is no use trying to be the queen you were not meant to be. Besides, you are our queen now and dressing well does us credit as well as you."

I laughed, though I didn't feel much like it. It was such an odd proposition, trying to woo an entire nation. My appearance and reputation had been so established (and of such little note) in Minas Tirith that I had never needed to take such considerations into account. I had worn what I wanted to and never thought twice about the message it sent. But a queen would need to be more strategical. I chewed on my lip for a long moment and then finally shrugged. There would be other times to show my appreciation of local styles. "One of the thousands I have in the green of Rohan then. I want to show willingness to shamelessly pander to my new countrymen after all."

"Clever girl."

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think! And then check out Lady Bluejay! She beta read this story and rocks! I also have another story Lothiriel Awakens that you could check out if you want more like this! XO Spake


	21. Chapter 21

The day of my wedding dawned as fine as could be wanted. And I should know. I woke before there was even a hint of dawn outside my window and lay in the dark. Knowing somehow that a return to the shores of sleep was impossible, I clasped my hands behind my head and stared out into the darkness. I thought unexpectedly about my mother. She had died of a sudden fever when I was a very small child and I didn't remember her at all. I had seen her face in portraits and my father and brothers had spoken of her often to me of course. But she had seemed something of a myth, like an elven princess. I thought of her only in moments like this, times when she would have played a large role in my life.

If she had not died she would have certainly been the face I would have seen that morning: the first through the door to wake me on my wedding day. I tried to imagine her waking up in some room nearby, feeling the same excited foreboding that I was. By all accounts she had been a kind woman; she might have come late to let me sleep in. I would have stayed in bed to wait for her, I decided. That seemed something that a daughter might do for her mother. Allow her to wake her child up one last morning before she was no longer a child.

Instead it was Gænwyn who came to wake me. She smiled when she saw I was already awake. "You may live to regret not sleeping more soundly tonight."

I shrugged, throwing back the covers. "So I may."

She waited while I bathed behind a screen and Eadgyth washed my hair with a special perfumed soap from Dol Amrothos. Afterward we had scones and butter with jam and even some hot, fresh coffee I had brought from Minas Tirith as we waited for my hair to dry by the fire. Lithoer and Éowyn came to join us for our breakfast which quickly turned into a boisterous, noisy affair. I was full of a simmering, giddy nervousness that made me too distracted to carry on a proper conversation but Gænwyn and Lithoer were full of an explosive kind of joy. Even Éowyn seemed to have been swept up in the mood.

This made it all the more shocking when Gænwyn, in a firm, serious voice, announced, as I took my last bite of scone, "Now it is time for us to answer any questions you might have about your wedding night."

I almost choked and only with some difficulty managed to swallow down my bit of scone. "What? No that's quite unnecessary Gænwyn! I assure you that I don't..." I glanced at Lithoer and Éowyn for aid. Surely Gænwyn didn't think that...

"When a lord and a lady lie down together they must come together as stallions and mares do in the spring to produce a baby. The lord, when he kisses the lady, becomes..."

"Gænwyn! I am familiar with the mechanics of the physical act of..."

"When he kisses the lady he becomes amorous and the masculine portion of his anatomy, which is normally flaccid and limp becomes more firm."

I put my hands over my face. "For the love of Valar..."

She pulled down my hands gently but firmly. "Don't be a silly young chit. There is nothing to be embarrassed by. Tonight you are going to become a woman and you have the right to know what to expect. My mother did not allow me to go to my bridal bed ignorant of what would happen to me and I will do the same for you. It would be better if you had sisters or a mother to tell you these things but I will not have you neglected."

I almost sighed. How was it that, of the two of us, it was me who had the reputation for manipulation? How was it even possible? Gænwyn was the first person since Amrothos who had seen in me something worth cherishing. She had nurtured and protected me even when I hadn't felt worthy of such care. It was a dastardly trick to so blithely use the word "mother" between us and she knew it.

I let her smooth my hands down into my lap. "I am very happy to listen to you, Gænwyn. I wouldn't prefer anyone else to tell me what I must be told."

Though I would prefer not to be told at all, I added silently, mentally setting my teeth and expression against any further visible mortification.

She smiled. "So when a man becomes amorous, and sometimes this requires a little more than just kissing and often quite a bit less, his masculine portions become firm. This allows him to insert himself into the corresponding feminine portions of the lady's anatomy. You have seen the stallions covering the mares of course. Once he is inside there is a natural tendency for him to slide in and out. This can be quite pleasurable for both parties."

"It should be pleasurable too." Lithoer added, blushing a little bit. "It hurts only a little bit at first if he's gentle and then it... it feels quite nice. I was quite scared it would hurt but it didn't that much in the end... and there wasn't that much blood either."

"Yes and do not be afraid if there is a moment wherein the pleasure, "comes to a boil" as it were and then subsides. This is quite natural for both women and men. When he reaches his boiling point his masculine parts will release his seed inside of you and then become flaccid again."

The Haradrim poetry I had read on the subject euphemistically referred to this as the moment of crisis or even "the small death" in some cases, but it was strange to hear it spoken aloud, particularly in Gænwyn's normal, direct speech.

As we finished the scones I was told a great many indecorous things about the relations between men and women. As my horror gave way some my natural curiosity returned. By the time the other ladies returned from their breakfasts I felt almost put-upon that I had to cease my questions.

The remainder of the morning of course was dedicated to making me as beautiful as possible. I was scrubbed, pinched, powdered and filed form head to toe. The rest of the bridal party returned to lend a hand. Lotion and perfume was worked into every surface that would accept it and my hair was brushed to a high sheen before being styled into an elaborate braided cap.

"That will hold the crown quite nicely," the cousin of Lithoer's who had volunteered to style my hair remarked when she was finished and I went cold with sudden realization. It was odd but, though I had known it would happen, the idea that Éomer would later be putting a crown on my head had completely slipped out of my mind. It was one thing to know that I would be Queen of Rohan—which seemed like a concept too large to grasp—but imagining the moment of my coronation was sobering.

By the noonday meal I was mostly ready and the feast had already started in the main hall so the women bid me farewell and went down to take their places at table. It would be hours before I would join them again: a litany of speeches and customs would precede the appearance of the bride. Once again, though I had been told what to expect, I found the reality of it indescribably queer. I sat in my elaborate hair arrangement and underthings (my dress was still in my closet so as to prevent the catastrophe of wrinkles) alone in my rooms, quivering with anticipation and unable to do anything. I tried to read and quickly realized it was useless. I paced some and looked out the widow but I couldn't settle. At any minute a maid could come to fetch me down to the feast.

Some food was brought up for me—cold chicken, bread, cheese and fruit with tea—but I only picked at it.

When the second knock came at my door I almost jumped out of my chair. "Come in."

The door swung open and Amrothos stepped in. "Oh Valar, Lothi! You aren't descent!" His hand flew up to cover his eyes.

I scrambled to the dresser and pulled out a robe, throwing it over my underthings. "Well I was hardly expecting you now, was I? I thought you were the damned maid!"

"Even if I were what a fine picture you make! Sitting around in your underthings and now swearing on your wedding day? Is this the expected behavior for the Queen of Rohan?"

"Since I am not Queen yet I shall let you know when I find out. Now what are you doing here?"

"The feast was getting oppressively dull. The rare speech in a language I can understand is all about honor and respect and forging new bonds between two great nations. Mostly though it's just savage babbling. And the food is uninspired as well. The lamb was fine but the fish sauce was far too heavy."

I stared at him in disbelief. "So you thought you would just stop by to say hello? On the afternoon of my wedding?"

"You never know. You could have changed your mind about going through with this farce. You might have needed someone to go round you up the fastest available horse." I frowned and opened my mouth to tell him where he could shove his fastest horse but he raised his arms. "Peace, peace, Lothíriel I only came to offer you company."

I shut my mouth. I was glad to see him. "Why don't you sit down in that case."

We seated ourselves at my table. Amrothos sat with his legs sprawled out in front of him lazily. I sat up a little straighter, afraid of getting even my underthings the least bit dirty. "Did Éomer ever mention to you that he had written me a letter once you had returned to Minas Tirith and the wedding date was fixed?"

My head shot up. "No, he never mentioned that."

"It was the most incomprehensible letter I had ever received. He wrote to specifically ask the favor that I attend your wedding. He said that he would consider it an honor and a personal favor." Amrothos smiled wistfully. "Of course he knew that I would be obliged to attend, willing or not, by our father. Writing to ask me himself was a ridiculous waste of paper and ink. I admit I was puzzled for almost a week before I could bring myself to comprehend what he could mean by it."

"Well, what was his aim?"

"Ahhh but you already know the answer to that question, don't you?"

"He did it because he loves me."

"That was my conclusion as well. It cannot have been easy letter for such a proud man to have written."

"No, it would have cost him quite a bit."

Amrothos reached out for my hands, which I gave him. He placed a single kiss on the back of both—a rare gesture of physical affection from him— and then squeezed them tight. My face suddenly felt hot and it was difficult to speak. Hot tears pricked my eyes though I wiped them away quickly. "I love you Amrothos."

"Don't cry. You don't do it prettily, not even your new husband would say so."

"I love you, Amrothos."

"Yes of course you do...And I have always loved you, Lothíriel and will continue to do so until the day that you die."

I let in the maid and Amrothos slipped out quietly to rejoin the feast. As I watched him go I felt suddenly a sense of calm come over me that was wholly unexpected. If that has gone well, nothing can go wrong today, I thought to myself.

My dress was fetched out and given one last brush to get out any wrinkles. It was the dark rich blue color of my house, made of the most luxuriant silk. It had few embellishments save for a sparing line of pearls around the collar and each cuff. The bodice and skirt were both conservatively cut but very pleasing, making my legs and neck look very long. Once it was on I regarded myself in the mirror and smoothed it down once but I found that the effect of the dress escaped me. I had none of my usual conception and concern for how I looked. Whatever internal device I used to measure my own reflection seemed temporarily vanished. I turned to Eadgyth to ask how I looked but her look of open admiration answered my question. It can't be so bad in that case, I decided.

We walked together in perfect silence down and out of the hall and then back up to the steps of the main entrance of the Meduseld. The doors were closed and everyone was already inside. Eadgyth straightened my skirt nervously and without thinking I said, "It's going to be okay" even as I realized how ridiculous it was for me to be reassuring her.

When the doors were finally thrown open I had expected an explosion of sound but the silence that reigned instead was almost louder, certainly more terrifying. The hall was full of people. The space at every table was filled with bodies and all of them turned to look at me in solemn reverence. It was an eerie and overwhelming scene that made me nearly flinch back from it.

But then my eyes found their way up the center aisle to where Éomer stood, waiting for me at the high dais. He was dressed in fine black pants and shirt with the White Horse of Rohan on his tunic. Except for his crown he looked just as he always did on more formal occasions: freshly scrubbed and in his finest but unchanged by it. He was still himself, still defined entirely by the air of command that he radiated from every pore and the kindness apparent on his mouth. Our eyes met and his expression, which had been somber and formal, changed into that special smile I never saw him give to anyone else: a little, mischievous quirk of his lips that seemed to say I know your game, little viper, I dare you to let me play it with you. I started walking immediately.

The details of the ceremony were, and remain, a blur to me. Our hands were bound together with a small piece of ribbon and we exchanged sips out of a mead cup. A murmur went through the crowd as I drank from the cup that I would later realize signaled the crowd's acknowledgment that we were married. It was a few moments later (or perhaps longer as I remember him speaking something) when I knelt and he placed the crown on my head that the room erupted in cheers.

The sound after the silence was deafening. I almost started as it reached me but managed to rise without an embarrassing wobble. I turned and smiled out at the crowd, my subjects now, and my heart hammered in my chest. Speeches were made that I barely listened to and then it was time for food that I would barely touch. I was however grateful to sit down. "How are we supposed to get this ribbon off anyway?" I whispered to him as we took our places at the highest seats of honor, hands still bound together.

"I suppose it must be bad luck to cut it."

"As a symbolic act it is not too promising, no. Here if you hold that end with your free hand I think I can work out the knot."

Wine was brought and I reminded myself not to gulp down my glass immediately. I had barely eaten all day and it would hardly be proper to become drunk at my own wedding. The crown felt odd on my head and I reached up and touched it gingerly once. I still had the crown I bore as Princess of Dol Amroth but it had been a light, delicate thing compared to this. This was a thick band of plain but well-wrought gold that had a real heft and weight about it.

We ate, though neither of us ate much. We talked some too, though not much. It was damned uncomfortable sitting at the high table. With so many eyes on us every sip of wine was remarked on, every whispered word was noticed. It had the air of performance, though not the type at which I had any skill. As Princess of Dol Amroth I had always been one of many at the high table. My rank was high but never the highest. Any ceremonial role I had been called upon to do would involve a dozen maidens at least and I had never been the center of so much focused attention. Éomer was much more at ease than I was but his attempts to draw me out a bit were met with limited success.

"I can order something stronger brought if you'd like," he remarked when he noticed my hand was shaking as I reached for my wine. "Or at least something more the color of the table cloth," he added as I almost spilled it.

"What? No the wine is fine."

"Just let me know if you want anything else."

Too soon our guests had finished their food and the level of noise in the room began to build. People began to stand and come to line the center aisle, preparing our gauntlet. Éomer turned to me, the question evident on his face. I swallowed hard and tried not to keep my building horror from showing. Though I was not exactly shy, the public attention, bordering on public humiliation of what was to come next was going to mortify me. "If we go now it won't be so bad. The longer we wait the worse it will be."

I tossed my head defiantly but despite my best efforts my voice shook a little. "Show a little courage, Éomer, you'll spoil the sport if we go before they're properly ready for us."

He laughed heartily at that but took my hand under the table and it steadied slightly, though it didn't stop shaking entirely.

When most of the guests were on their feet we rose and walked slowly to the end of the dais. We hesitated for a moment as the assembled guests cheered loudly and then when they quieted down Éomer began to speak, interrupted periodically with overwhelming applause.

"Today is a great day. Today we welcome a new Queen to our hall. She represents her home country of Gondor and will be a great link between our newly allied nations. Through her our peace will be the peace of relations as well as friends. We will be family, brothers, with our allies of the south and bound closer than any friendship.

"She also represents herself and for that I am equally proud to call her my wife. She has already lived in Rohan for more than a year and has come to love and understand its customs and its people. I know that she will be a great and loving Queen to her new country and mother to all of her subjects. I hope someday you will come to love her as much as I already do. I invite her now to speak on her own behalf as she chooses."

Gænwyn had helped me memorize a short speech but nothing could have prepared me to deliver it. I stepped forward, feeling strangely alone. I was surrounded by people but never had I felt more isolated. My voice, when it came, sounded weird and strained though I knew somehow that it was the right pitch and volume. "The Rohirrim have told me that when two horses meet they know if they are kin at once. That is how I felt when I arrived in your great land and met you: that I was meeting my kin that I had never seen before. People of Rohan, today I am proud to say that I have become one of you. I have lived in this great country for the past year but now I have become a part of it. Being your Queen will be the highest honor of my life."

In the roar of approval that followed Éomer's hand found mine and squeezed tight. Somehow, even though the riot of noise, his voice seemed clear. "Time to run."

We didn't make it as far as our first step before a profusion of wheat and flowers rained down. Éomer went first and took the brunt of it but soon I found that it wasn't as bad as I had anticipated. Some of the wheat stuck to my clothes and it was difficult to see where we were going between Éomer's back obscuring my vision and the confusion of flowers but I found that quite suddenly, I was laughing very hard. My pace slowed and Éomer had to slow his pace as my stride shortened from the lack of breath.

When we reached the door, instead of being let out to make our escape, the crowd converged on us. Gænwyn, Lithoer and the girls from the morning had been waiting on me and then swarmed around me, pulling me away from Éomer and bundling me back down the aisle even as a party of men converged on my new husband. He grabbed at my wrist once, for the look of the thing, but didn't hold so tight as to hurt me as we were gleefully pulled apart.

The musicians struck up a lively tune and I could see even before we had reached the back of the hall again and been pushed through the doors, tables being pushed back and dancing beginning. My ladies and I lingered at the back of the hall for a moment to flirt with the crowd. The men shouted rather lewd but complimentary things about the looks and charms of the girls and got as good as they gave. A few young women had even tied the flower ribbons in their hair and danced an impromptu jig with some of the riders. I was thrust out into the dance as well, Gænwyn on my arm. Grain was showered down on me and the ribbons successfully won were tossed at me as well, tokens of good luck. I was so out of breath from the exertion and the laughter, so disoriented by the strangeness and the clamor that I didn't see Éomer until he had swept me up in his arms.

A great hew and shout went up as he embraced me briefly, calls were made to pull us back apart, but he took his time. He brushed back my hair gently and his grin was mischievous and heart-stopping. "Westu hal, Lothíriel."

"Westu hal, Éomer."

The kiss he gave me was too much. One strong arm went around my waist and pulled me flush against his broad chest. The other knitted in my hair and tilted my head back. His lips descended on mine and he kissed me deeply. The shout that went up from the crowd was deafening, unrestrained. I was blushing scarlet by the time he released me, from the embarrassment and from the usual rush of heat when he kissed me. He started to laugh and brought up his hand to caress my cheek but we were ripped apart again by the crowd and I was bundled back through the door by the women.

Out of sight of the dance and the men the women wasted no time. We had no idea how long the men would dally in the hall and there was work to be done. I was nearly dragged as we ran full out down the unfamiliar halls and up stairs. They were all laughing, all in high good spirits and the effect was like a torrent of mead rushing down the hall—overflowing and uncontainable. Finally we arrived at Éomer's chambers and burst in. My dress was dragged over my head, almost knocking my new crown straight to the floor had I not managed to catch it in the rush of fabric. I was likewise divested of my small clothes as many unknown hands began to pull at the elaborate hairstyle. "Not so rough you silly chits! We don't want the queen to be bald on her wedding night!" Gænwyn's voice seemed to cut through the haze of noise and confusion that seemed to have settled over my senses the moment we had begun to run down the aisle.

The mayhem began to recede slightly and sense and reason began to return as Lithoer brought over my bridal nightclothes and someone took a brush to my hair. My beautiful nightgown was pale pink: all lace and silk and embroidered with pearls from the Bay of Belfalas. Over that went my new dark green robe with Rohan's white horse embroidered in fine detail on the back. As they brushed my hair the ladies became a little quieter. It was a sensation I remembered from being a handmaiden myself. The women in the room had a wide range of emotions for me—from deep affection to perhaps abject jealousy—but now I was on the verge of a great change. I was about to become a woman and more than that I was about to become their queen. Even in the rush of silliness there was some solemnity as well.

Gænwyn herself tied the last fastener just over my breasts and placed the crown on my head. She smoothed down my hair over my ears and placed a kiss on my forehead. "We're taking our leave now, Lothíriel unless you need anything else."

"No, Gænwyn. I will see you tomorrow morning."

She nodded. "I wish your mother were here."

"I love you, Gænwyn."

She looked surprised. "Of course you do. I love you too."

I heard them start to laugh and dance again as the door closed and they moved off down the hall. For a moment I was almost envious of the good time they would be having that night without me. Feeling strange and utterly out of place I went and got into the unfamiliar bed. I pulled back the thick furs, the heavy woolen blanket and even the luxuriant cotton sheet and slid in. The bed smelled of Éomer and I lay back on the pillow wishing he were already there with me. Though I could hear the feast below I felt suddenly panicked, as if I were the only person left in the world. I shut my eyes tight against the unexpected loneliness.

Sooner than I expected I heard noises down the hall: louder and rowdier even than my own band had been. The shouting and singing was all in a lower, more masculine register and it seemed twice as loud as the party that left had been. Into the room they burst, pushing Éomer in front of them. Half of them seemed to be shouting that I should run while I still could and that I was far too fair for the likes of him. The other half was encouraging him to "act as a stallion should" and "do what the good blood told him to." Two of his riders pulled back the covers and he was launched into the bed with a mighty heave. The blanket was thrown over us and the marriage was officially consummated. We lay there for a moment as our guests enjoyed one last jape, one last bang on their pans and even one last handful of wheat before they exited through the door they had come through.

When the door banged shut behind the last one I glanced at Éomer and immediately burst into laughter. He was covered in wheat stalks and flowers and one particularly hilariously placed bud had caught in his crown was flopping down into his eyes. In the volatile, high spirits of the room the laughter was like a match to a keg and it was a while before either of us calmed down properly.

I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand and sat up in bed, pushing down the bedclothes. "You look absolutely ridiculous with those flowers in your hair. Come here and let me take them out for you."

When I was done he took my chin in his fingers and looked down at me. Kneeling and facing each other he was quite a bit taller than I was and, wholly unexpectedly, I felt suddenly, intensely nervous.

It had been one thing to kiss him on the heath or in his tent and declare that I wanted him. It was as his wife that the anxiety of performance struck. Before it had been all too easy to get swept away. Making love to Éomer as Lothíriel had been easy. Now that the official moment had come—with a ceremony, a dress and a crown—I felt somewhat shy. For all my intelligence and all the scandalous poetry I had read, for all the love and desire I bore Éomer, I was a maid and he was no innocent. My lack of experience felt like a vulnerability, as did the fact that while he was still fully clothed, I was in my nightclothes. One small tug on my robe and he would see more of me than any man ever had. I wished I hadn't been so eager to scoff off advice that morning.

Though I fought not to let it show he must have seen something of my hesitation. His hand dropped from my chin and he stood up from the bed. "Come let's have a glass of wine."

He went to a jug on a table and poured two glasses. I joined him, and accepted one gratefully. I noticed that there were a variety of refreshments laid out for us for what was assumed to be a long and active night. I blushed a little looking at them and cursed myself for a fool. How was it possible that I could be so utterly without shame when he kissed me and yet the sight of the meal laid out made me act like the most innocent, simpering virgin?

From across the table my new husband regarded me with a thoughtful expression. "I hope you won't take this the wrong way, Lothíriel but I am awfully glad that our wedding is over."

"Oh?"

"All day I've been worried that something will spook you and you'll bolt."

"I would never..."

"I know you wouldn't. But it is a lot to ask even if you do love me. You're becoming Queen of a land that is not your own. You're coming out of the shadow of your father and becoming a ambassador for Gondor in Rohan all in one day." He took a large sip of wine. "Sometimes I forget how young you are too. You're so strong and fearless in your own way that it is too easy to think of you as invulnerable."

"Come now, Éomer. Perhaps those kinds of compliments were appropriate when we were courting but now that we're an old married couple you really must stop. People will think you are simple or having a dalliance if you moon over your own wife like that."

He grinned. "Is that what you think passes for a romantic compliment? Invulnerability? I have chosen a wife well." But then his grin twisted back into something more serious. "I know what I'm talking about when I call a woman strong—Valar knows I've seen plenty of examples—and I do mean what I say."

I glanced around the room as I took my first sip, hoping to keep him from seeing the flush in my cheeks. The room was very much a reflection of Éomer. The bed, table and chairs were dark wood with the intricate, horse motif carving that populated so much of the decor in the Meduseld. A wooden rack by the wall held his armor, sword and saddle as well as some other weapons I had never seen him wield. The tapestries too were all of horses and warriors riding into battles I didn't recognize. And the smell of him permeated the room as well. It was not overwhelming but even if I had not been told I would have known the room was his and it was enough to make my heart beat slightly faster.

These were Éomer's chambers and always would be. If I so chose I could sleep most nights in the Queen's chambers, which would be close by or adjoined but would have their own bed and all the necessities I could want. Those would be my rooms to do with as I pleased, but this would always be Éomer's territory and something of a foreign land to me. In Gondor even very close and loving husbands and wives did not typically visit each other's chambers without some invitation.

I tried not to stare so blatantly but he noticed anyway. "Strong though you may be you do seem somewhat out of place in my rooms. I never knew how damnably masculine this room was until just now. With you standing in it it looks like an armory. I shall have to hang some new tapestries directly."

"Oh no! They are perfectly lovely and they suit you quite well! And of course they are yours to do with as you like after all." I insisted hurriedly. "They are entirely your own."

He smiled. "To be sure. However you look somewhat out of place between my mace and the battle tapestries and I am hoping to tempt you to spend a significant amount of time here."

I smiled. "Oh?"

He winked. "I told Gænwyn to put the knobbiest mattress she could find in the Queen's chambers."

"What a scandal. And to think that you are the honorable one of the pair of us."

"I confess that it is not the most lofty of my schemes but I shall learn to live with the black mark on my honor. And your maid will report on you if you ever try to chuck the dreadful thing out."

"And to think I once thought I needed to save you from court intrigue. But schemes and informants? You do know how to keep my interest."

"I should hope so."

For a long moment he simply regarded me as I struggled to return his gaze. It was not the hungry or predatory look he sometimes gave me when we were alone; he seemed to be considering what to do or say next very carefully. Finally he took off his crown and set on the table. "That always seems so much heavier than it has any right to be," he remarked, finger combing his hair out slightly. "Much more annoying than a helm, though you wouldn't think so looking at it."

I lifted mine off gingerly as well and passed it back and forth from hand to hand for a moment before setting it on the table too. I hadn't properly seen it before and I was surprised to note that it wasn't a simple solid gold band as I had thought but rather two medium sized ones that dipped slightly in the front and back where they connected but were otherwise unmarked by decoration. "I think I shall always prefer you in your crown. You are perhaps more handsome in a helm but whenever you put it on you ride right out of the gate and on your way to danger."

He came around the table and took me in his arms. "I may like my helm less now that I know that you will be waiting at my hearth when I return."

"Perhaps. But you will always ride off, Éomer. I think you will always be a warrior and I, fool that I am, will love even that about you that breaks my heart most."

His lips descended on mine and then there was very little talking after that.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what to do and who I always thank. LBJ is the best! I love reviews! Blah blah blah... XO Spake


	22. Chapter 22

I woke in the cool gray of dawn the next morning and to my surprise Éomer's eyes were still closed. He lay on his side with one large arm thrown over my waist. For a long while I was content just to look at him, his handsome face relaxed in repose. My new husband. Even the thought felt strange. The impulse to touch him—to take some proof that he was real—came and passed. It was, I realized, my first opportunity to scrutinize him without reserve. His face in repose seemed younger, the lines of care softened and vanished in sleep. It was so easy to forget that, though almost ten years older than I, Éomer was still quite young. Awake he was every inch a king and leader, but asleep I could almost see the rider and boy he had been. The sound of his breath and the feel of his naked flesh on mine was at once stimulating and reassuring.

"I thought you would be gone when I opened my eyes. I have dreamed enough of waking with you in my bed these last months it does not seem possible that it is finally true." Éomer's voice was slightly lower, rougher with sleep.

His eyes opened slowly. I smiled at him, tucking one hand between my cheek and the pillow and reaching out to cup his jaw with the other. "Shall I prove to you that I am made of flesh?"

The hand on my waist tightened and he suddenly looked much more awake. With a single smooth motion he pulled me towards him, rolled me half beneath him and brought his lips down upon mine. With both of us already naked it took little enough time before we were both panting and spent again. I pulled back the thick bedclothes to escape from the sudden heat and stretched my arms over my head, arching my back to bring some relief to the unexpected soreness from the previous night's activities.

My husband regarded me with an unreadable expression. "What is it?" I asked.

He passed a hand over his face and looked away from me. "It is nothing."

I rolled toward him and fixed him with a quizzical look. "Tell me."

"I was only wondering how I will ever manage to give you a moment's peace now that I know what your naked form is like. Particularly if you continue to be so agreeably shameless." I blushed and tried to pull the bedclothes back over me but he snatched them back quickly. "Oh no, no, I shall dispose of all the covers out the window, and your robe as well, if you ever start to become shy!"

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "You would deny me the right even to cover myself?"

"In my chambers? Without a moment's hesitation."

"Tyrant!"

"Call it what you will."

We did finally get dressed when a morning meal was brought for us. As I buttered my scone I noticed that the maid quietly stripping the bed of its top sheet. I had not bled much the night before but it would be proof enough. "Are you not pressed for time? When I was told there was to be a hunt today I assumed you would leave before I was even awake."

He laughed at that. "You thought I would get up before dawn on the day after my own wedding? Even a harder man with a plainer wife would never dream of such a thing."

"Well it might have been a tradition. Since you made me jump into that horrid icy water at Yule I can believe that nothing is beyond the bounds of reason."

"It would have ended this morning if it had been. I can't think of anything that would have induced me to leave you before you woke up. No, the hunt will begin quite late. It gives the revelers time to recover from the effects of their merriment and the bride and groom another opportunity to do their duty."

"How considerate."

"I am glad you are pleased."

I was glad it was Éomer and not I who was riding out that morning, sorry as I was to see him go. When he was gone I asked for a bath to be drawn for me and slipped in gratefully.

I pondered some on the loss of my maidenhead as I soaked. I had been told that some girls felt a sense of loss the morning after they became women but found that this was not true for me. I was more interested in the new sensations that had opened up than some intellectual connection to virtue and youth. I felt no more distant from my father or brothers than I had before and remarkably closer to Éomer. Nor did I feel any less virtuous.

A knock on the door brought me out of my reverie. I went and put on a robe and let in Gænwyn. "Come, come! We are going to gather flowers for garlands down by the moat." She was already dressed with two large baskets under one arm.

"I won't be required to jump in this time will I?" I was thinking of the first time I had gone when we had swum after berry picking. I wasn't sure I would be up for it, tired as I was.

"Not unless you want to my Queen."

I frowned at that. "Oh, Gænwyn please don't call me that."

"And why shouldn't I? You're a Queen and a woman now. You should be addressed by everyone in this Hall by your title."

I considered her as she set down her two baskets and went to my closet to begin selecting a gown for me to wear. "I understand the point you are trying to make."

"And what point would that be?"

"You're trying to remind me that though I am young and foreign I am now of a higher station than anyone else in the court and cannot allow them to forget it. But honestly I don't want us to have titles between us. It will make me feel wretchedly lonely. I won't allow anyone to goad me into jumping in the moat." But I suppose I shall allow people to barge into my room, demand that I accompany them flower gathering and select my clothes at their discretion, I added only silently.

She did not meet my eye as she spread out the dress on the bed but I could tell she was pleased from the way she said, "As you wish, Lothíriel."

As she smoothed out the wrinkles I came to give her a hug from behind, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and clasping them over her breast and laying my head against her back affectionately. "I am very pleased to be your Queen, Gænwyn but I will always be your friend first."

Her eyes had a high sheen in them when she turned around but she only said brusquely, "Come put this on and I will find you some shoes."

I slipped off the robe and into the light, gray cotton dress she had selected and then turned my attention to braiding up my hair. "Those deerskin boots at the back will do just right for today I think."

As I slid them on she seemed to hesitate for a moment. "You aren't too tired to come are you, Lothíriel? If you would prefer to rest I am sure that the other ladies will understand."

Having never heard Gænwyn attempt to be so discrete, I almost laughed at that. "I find myself quite refreshed this morning and in high good spirits."

She pressed her lips together, struggling not to grin. "I'm pleased to hear it... you don't have any questions about anything that happened last night?"

"No, I found Éomer to be a very apt teacher."

She grinned impishly. "I thought he might be. And were you a good pupil?"

I blushed furiously but tossed my hair over my shoulder defiantly. Perhaps yesterday she could have made me blush and keep silent but I wasn't a maid any longer. "I'm not sure. The results seemed satisfactory but the lesson was repeated several times."

She roared with laughter at that. "Ah I am sure you will catch on quick." She touched my stomach once for luck.

For a moment I was taken aback, no woman in Gondor would have mentioned a pregnancy before the baby was safely born and at least a week old. The implications of living in Rohan arrivedhit me at the strangest times: realization of the full force of what I had chosen arriving all at once as it had when I considered my coronation only as my hair was being fixed to hold a crown. It had not occurred to me that I would have a Rohirric pregnancy. Women would touch my stomach and ask me if I felt it was a boy or girl. I had even heard it remarked that a woman might be carrying twins, so full was her stomach. Éomer might try to hold off, in deference to my native customs, but I didn't think he would last the full term without asking me what I had considered as a name (in Rohan it was the woman who chose what the child was to be called). Such remarks were unthinkable in Gondor but here they were a certainty.

To my surprise I found myself looking forward to it. I thought about Gænwyn asking me a thousand impertinent questions and almost surely terrifying me with the details of the birthing bed. Perhaps I would tell Éomer that I meant to give our first son the snobbiest, Gondorian name I could think of just to watch him squirm. Unlike a Gondorian husband he might share my bed until the day my water came. I imagined how difficult it would be to be closed off from him for nine months and found my own fingers tracing over my stomach, wondering. I had always considered that I would find pregnancy a tiresome burden, a duty that I would perform for my husband. But perhaps in my new circumstances it would suit me better.

The afternoon was one of the first truly warm days of spring but even if it had been unseasonably cold the banks would still have been packed with maidens searching for flowers. The second night of our wedding would include a ceremony to welcome spring and all the women of the city were looking to make the best garland they could with the wildflowers to be found. We made slow progress as so many people stopped us to wish me joy of my new husband or offer their hopes of a long, prosperous and fertile marriage. I might have worried that I would never have time to pick flowers for my own garlands but the women, seeing that my basket was empty, were quick to fill it with gifts. I tried to insist that they didn't need to give me the very best flowers they had gathered but Gænwyn was quick to shush me on that point. "Giving a gift to a bride is good luck. And they will be proud to think that a bloom they picked might grace the head of their King or Queen." Without ever picking a single one myself my basket was quickly filled with a riot of colorful blooms.

When we found our party finally and sat down to weave our garlands Lithoer laughed outright at how my basket overflowed. "Well you shall certainly live up to your name tonight, Lothíriel."

"What do you mean by that, Lithoer?" Éowyn asked.

"Erchirion told me that Lothíriel's name means 'flower garlanded maiden.' She shall certainly be that tonight."

I wished that Feleas had been there to help me but in the end I was quite pleased with the crowns I managed for Éomer and myself. There was no rush to return to the hall after our garlands were woven. The men wouldn't return from the hunt for hours and the feast wouldn't begin until dark. There was some dancing already starting in the square but we elected instead to enjoy the sun and the bank. Elboron was just beginning to try to stand up and spent nearly an hour pulling himself to his feet and then steadying himself before he tired and crawled over to sleep on his mother's skirts.

"He is a fine lad, Éowyn." Gænwyn said, stroking his head fondly. "A true gift."

We returned to the hall as the shadows began to grow long. I had to be shown to my new rooms by a maid—not knowing precisely where they were. When she showed me in however, I almost let my mouth drop open. I had not been surprised at how well Éomer's chambers suited him but how well my own suited me left me speechless. The room was a wide elegant space with eastern facing windows. They would get good light the whole year round and not be too cold in the winter. Some of my furniture I had brought with me—my beloved wardrobe and excessively large mirror—but even that which I had not was carved of a lighter wood (though still with the ubiquitous horse motif I was pleased to note) giving the room a feeling of brightness. Someone had gone to the trouble of unpacking my tapestries and hanging them as well as arranging as many of my clothes as would fit into the single wardrobe. It was strange to feel as though I had come into a place that I had never seen but felt already was my home. A steaming bath was drawn and a pale lavender dress hung out to air.

I bathed and changed and was just sitting beginning to consider how to plait my hair when a knock sounded. "Come in."

Éomer pushed open a door that connected our chambers. He was freshly bathed as well and looking tired but happy. He crossed the room and gave me a long kiss. "Damn if that isn't the sweetest end to a hunt."

I smiled. "Did you catch anything to merit it?"

"Patience, Lothíriel. You'll see soon enough."

I scoffed. He looked almost as pleased with himself as he had the night he caught the favor from my hair. "As if I couldn't see by your good humor that you have. I say 'good humor' of course to avoid a nasty word like smug self-satisfaction."

"Those would be harsh words indeed on such tender lips." He said, kissing me again fondly. "Your brother rode well today."

"Oh don't bother me with that. I am sure that Erchirion is perfectly capable of his own bragging and will thank you to let him bore me with it himself."

"And so I shall. I actually meant your youngest brother."

That got my attention. "Amrothos rode out with you on the hunt?"

"He did himself credit as I said. He brought down two or three nice birds which is very respectable."

I nodded and went back to plaiting my hair. "Well if you're inclined to you might take it as a compliment that he went at all. He hasn't been hunting in years, I'm sure of it. He did it to please you, Éomer, I hope you realize that."

"I'm not sure it's me he is trying to please."

"Your respect would mean a lot to him." I said quietly.

"Perhaps it would. And he shall have it. But it isn't my affection that he wants, Lothíriel, not truly."

I swallowed down a sudden lump in my throat. "I think he is worried that I won't write to him now that I am your wife. I am not sure what he fears: that you will forbid it or that I will not have the time. But he and I have been close for years. I think it might be hard for him to lose even my correspondence."

"You're a better correspondent than I am, try though I might."

I had just opened my mouth to agree with him when a sudden thought struck me. I stood from the vanity and went to the closet. "I'm going to have to meet you in the dining hall," I said slipping on my shoes.

"Oh? Where are you going?"

"I'll tell you when I get back."

"Lothi is everything alrig..."

"Everything is fine."

I was already out of the door and walking quickly down the darkening hallway. I had to ask for directions but I soon was given a proper heading and led down to a room on the lower floor. I knocked once and was answered by a soft, "Come in."

I was pleased to see that my cousin was nowhere to be seen. Elboron was asleep on the bed as well. Only Éowyn greeted me with alert, wary eyes when I came in. "Hello, Lothíriel."

"Hello, Éowyn."

She was seated on the bed but she gestured for me to take a chair by the fire and took the one opposite. I arranged my skirts and looked into the fire for a long moment. She didn't ask why I had come but neither did she look away from me or try to make small talk.

Finally I forced myself to meet her gaze. "It occurs to me that I never told you that I wish very much to be your friend. I keep trying to suggest it, as I would with a Gondorian woman. But now that I am the Queen of Rohan I find that I must learn to speak more plainly. I want to be your friend, Éowyn.

"For months I have been trying to find some token of affection I could bestow on you that might convince you that I was sincere. I considered going to Lady Harra and trying to get your brother's bracelet back. That was the only thing that felt like enough. But in the end I couldn't. I couldn't risk getting involved with the court again. The only thing I can offer is a correspondence. I will write you faithfully every week. I will tell you everything about the Rohan, Edoras and Éomer that I think might interest you. I'll tell you if your brother is hurt and how the crops are but I also hope that I can speak to you about my own feelings and experiences. I will write to you even if I go unanswered, though I hope that you will write back. I do consider you a sister now and I wish to be your friend."

Without a word she stood and went to her desk. When she came back she held something in her hands but didn't hold it out for me to take.

"I went back and forth on whether I was going to give you this as a wedding present. One of the things I love most about Faramir is his ability to forgive but I think that is because it is something I don't see in myself. I am more of a vengeful creature." She considered me for a long moment. "But I do not think I value vengeance above all things."

She held out the item and dropped it into my hand. I knew somehow even before I looked down what it was: the bracelet Éomer had given me. The one I had given to Harra. "How did you..."

"I bought it. A few weeks after I first saw her wearing it I sold some of the jewelry I'd been given as a wedding present and I went to offer her money for it. Honestly I think she enjoyed selling it to me. I think she thought that you would see that I had gotten it back and that somehow it would drive us further apart."

"I can't accept this, Éowyn, not after what I did. It belongs in your family."

"You are part of that family now, Lothíriel. Or did you not just finish saying you thought of us as sisters? I will write back to you, Lothíriel. I think that someday we will be good friends. But for now even if we are just sisters that is enough for me to value and cherish you."

I rolled the bracelet in my hand uncomfortably. "I am not just resigned to love you, Éowyn. If you were only Éomer's sister that would of course be enough for me to want to be your friend. But I respect you on your own merits as well. What you did during the war and the kindness I see in you. I want to be more than just your sister by marriage. I want to be close to you."

She opened her mouth, looking uncomfortable. I cut in. "I know that we don't yet know each other. We will though."

She considered me for a long moment. "It has always been so easy to see why Éomer chose you: smart and beautiful and funny as you are. But love my brother as much as I do I think I only just now saw why you love him. He has changed you, Lothíriel. You are not the girl you were at my wedding, or even the one I met during Beltane."

"No. I am not."

"You are too smart not to see how this new openness makes you vulnerable. You said you thought about going to Harra to get the bracelet back to Éomer even though you knew that was the fool's path. Think of how much worse it will be when you have his child to worry about."

A year ago her challenge would have stopped me in my tracks. Now the words came almost too easily. "Opening the gates of a keep is always a risk. But they cannot stay closed indefinitely. I shall have to rely on Éomer to help me protect myself. Just as I think he will need me to protect him from time to time as well. The court will never hurt him, or my children. I swear it."

She smiled, glancing at Elboron on the bed. "I think I know how you feel."

We sat together after that as the light dimmed outside until it was time for the feast and then we walked together to the dining hall. In a fit of boldness I offered her my arm, which was my right in my home, and she accepted without comment.

The feast had not yet started but the hall was full of people who had come down early from their rooms to enjoy a little conversation before dinner. The boar that was the centerpiece for the feast was so enormous the table seemed to almost sag beneath it. I almost grinned at that. No doubt Éomer had been the one to skewer it himself given how pleased he'd been. I saw Éomer standing towards the front with Erchirion and Gænwyn. Faramir and Lithoer were standing a little way away, chatting with Amrothos and my father. As we entered Éowyn turned without hesitation towards a table to one side that was laden with cups of mead. It took me only a moment to realize that I too needed to greet my husband with a cup for luck after the hunt.

Éomer took the cup from me and drank deeply, finishing it at once. I had spoken the traditional words a thousand times to my brothers and father but tonight they felt different. "Welcome back to your hearth, my lord. A blessing for this hunt and many other safe hunts after."

"A gift for your bountiful table, my lady. Honor and love respectfully given and received."

Gænwyn laughed. "Yes, yes, the two of your are very handsome indeed but surely you have enough time to stare longingly at each other privately now that you're married. In public I expect a little more usefulness. Lothíriel come lend a hand and we shall join with your father's group. Now that you're here and I have a reliable translator I think I might just dare talk to him."

That was the first night I presided in my own hall. The mead was plentiful and the company gay. Dinner was a noisy and long affair. When the boar was served Éomer gave me a roguish smile. "Is he enough to satisfy you, Lothíriel?" He asked.

I took his hand under the table. "He is more than enough, Éomer."

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh it makes me so sad to type that.
> 
> Well that's all she wrote folks! Thanks for sticking around for the end. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please drop me a line to let me know if you liked it, what you thought of the ending and if you want another story! Reviews make me so unbelievably happy! Big thank you to all of you readers and to Lady Bluejay for being the best editor a girl could want (seriously, if only you knew how much she improved this story!) in addition to being a wonderful writer in her own right. XO Spake


	23. Chapter 23

I woke in the semidarkness, disoriented. Pushing myself up I peered blearily out into the flickering light of a candle I had forgotten to snuff before going to bed. The noise of a spring thunderstorm was still cracking against the windows of my chambers. "Éomer? Are you there?"

The only response I received was the bed shifting slightly as a weight joined me on the mattress. Warm lips found mine and I was pushed firmly back into my pillows, one hand tangling in my loose hair. He had rung out his hair and shed his armor, cloak tunic and boots but he was still damp with frigid water from the storm raging outside. He pulled me hard against his chest—still somehow warm and broad under the freezing shirt—and my own thin cotton nightclothes soaked through almost immediately. No matter, they would be gone soon enough.

My hands slid down over his chest, his clavicles, arms, ribs, hands, face... He broke contact with my mouth for a brief moment. "I am not hurt Lothíriel you can stop checking."

His free hand captured my foot, sliding up the calf and thigh and pulling my legs open so he could settle between them and more directly on top of me. I could feel him already against my inner leg. I moaned into his mouth as his weight settled into a place of exquisite pressure. He had already taken off his belt, obliging man, so I pulled instead as his sodden shirt.

"I thought you would be back tomorrow." I gasped when our lips broke contact for the brief period needed to remove his shirt.

That same devilish hand slid again between my legs, beginning a slow, torturous caressing movement. "Change of plan." He murmured against my flesh as he kissed his way down my neck. The other hand pulled down the nightclothes, exposing my breasts, and he took one peak into his mouth. The dim light of the banked fire seemed to explode into a burst of brilliant luminescence.

I arched against him, fists clenching on the bedsheets. It had been a month since I had seen my husband and I was in no mood for a slow seduction. "Valar! Please! Oh please Éomer! Please!"

Normally he was a little harder to persuade than that. He liked to take his time with me. Many a languorous afternoon we had retired to our mutual studies only to find that when it was time to dress for supper we hadn't opened a single book. But he too must have been feeling the strain of our time apart.

My legs went around him and soon we were both panting and moaning and frantic with need. I went first, my crisis coming like a wave crashing down. I turned my head into the pillow and arched against him, a stream of nonsense words turning into nonsense sounds issuing from my mouth as sensation claimed me. That seemed to bring him over the edge as well. He collapsed against me, crushing my body down against the bed.

When we had both regained our senses he tried to roll off me but I locked my legs behind his back and put an arm around his neck, keeping him with me. "Please stay."

"Lothíriel I'll crush the life out of you."

"I don't mind. Please stay."

"At least let me roll the side slightly so I'm not directly on top of you like a great brute."

Reluctantly I let him and he slid out of me. I felt the loss but was consoled slightly when he pulled me on top of him so that I straddled one naked leg and our chests were flush against each other. I swept my hair out to one side and put my head as directly over his heart as I could, listening to its firm, reassuring rhythm. He pulled the blankets and fur over me and let one strong arm drape over my back, cradling me in place. "I should go fetch you some mead. You can't be properly welcomed home to your hearth without mead."

"I don't give a damn about a cup of mead. If you so much as try to move I shall pin you down and have my way with you again." He drew one hand lazily up on my arm, trailing his fingertips along and making me shuddering.

"It's bad luck."

"In a moment then, not now."

I let my own fingers rest gently on a yellowing bruise on his ribs before flitting to a thin but deep gash that went from just below his elbow to his shoulder. "You said you weren't hurt."

"Not badly."

"What happened?"

"Someone slipped passed my guard is all. You can't look everywhere in battle, try as you might. It is healing just fine. How is my son?"

I smiled propping my head up on my hands so that I could look at him. If I had expected Éomer to tire of referring to Elfwine as 'his son' with a special emphasis and pride, as he had done as often as possible after his birth, I had already endured four years of surprise. "Your son is fine. He has been helping me take account of the leftover stores. Well I say helping, he's mostly been exploring. Or he was rather, he has a cold right now."

Éomer sat up quickly, forcing me into a sitting position as well. "Elfwine is sick?"

I smiled. "Children catch colds Éomer. Particularly children who simply will touch anything and everything they see and don't have the good sense not to play with their friends whose humors our out of balance as well." I pushed him back down. "He is in no danger."

"He has been helping you with the accounts? I knew he would be good at sums."

"He is a bit young for that still. He may be someday."

"I think he will. Just like his mother."

"Based on my experience in the cellars I would say he may turn out more like his father. I would have expected him to be clutching my skirts in such a looming, dark place but I'm more likely to need a strong tether to keep him from wandering off."

With my head on his chest I couldn't see Éomer's face but after nearly five years of marriage I knew he was smiling in that proud, nearly smug, way he reserved for his son. There was no doubt in his mind that Elfwine was the finest boy that ever lived and his arrogance over this fact was unbridled. "He shouldn't give his mother such trouble."

I snorted at that. "And yet somehow I think he will continue to."

"Would you like me to talk to him about it?"

I laughed outright at that. After years of lecturing me for spoiling my horses, in parenthood it had finally been my turn to scold Éomer for his inability to discipline Elfwine. To be sure the boy was in awe of his father: worshiped him really. On the rare occasions my husband did find the need to have harsh words with his son they always landed with the seriousness of a bolt of lightening. But those occasions I could count on a single hand. I dreaded the day that Elfwine figured out how entirely wrapped around his little finger his father was. "No... it isn't a lack or respect; it is a lack of sense. I'll bring him around. Bodily if it comes to that."

"I am sure you will."

We were silent for a long moment, him stroking my arm, me listening to his heartbeat. "I am sorry to have woken you," he said finally.

"I am not. Though I wish you hadn't ridden all the way in this storm Éomer."

He laughed. "I may be none too popular with my men tonight. But once I saw the lights of Edoras there was no question of my stopping. I always feel that I can see your light in particular and then it always seems like such a sad waste to let you sleep alone."

I yawned. "Well tomorrow we shall have the welcome feast and I shall be sure you make it up to them in ale."

"To be sure." He hesitated. "I should like to talk to you about going to Aldburg for the summer tomorrow as well."

I frowned. "But you've just returned."

"I meant perhaps that we might move the family seat there for the summer. I have some business to attend to and I should like to show you and Elfwine where I was a boy. I know it's an imposition Lothíriel and on such short notice but..."

My frown melted. "No. I think I should quite like that." It would be quite a bit of work to get the hall ready for our departure but I hadn't seen Éomer's childhood home except for that brief, disastrous Yule trip and it would be nice to be out of Edoras. Nightwind at least would appreciate the chance to really stretch her legs.

He kissed the crown of my head. "I'm very pleased to hear you say so. Aldburg is beautiful in the summer. I can teach Elfwine to fish in the mountain springs and we can all go berry picking together. There are some very good horse-breeders there too, some of the best in the land. You might want to talk to them for your book." In the last year I had, finally, begun to gather information on Rohirric horse-breeding practices. I hoped to send a book outlining some of the most basic practices to King Elessar within the year. "The conflict on the Western border is dying down. I hope that I won't be called back to it for another few months."

"That sounds lovely."

"Elfwine I think is old enough to make the trip on his own horse as well. Or at least to make a start on it. And perhaps I could write to Éowyn and ask her if she might come down for a month or so with Elboron."

"It will be good for him to have a playmate."

He seemed finally to hear the sleepy tone of my voice. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed beneath me. "Come Lothíriel let's sleep in my chambers. Your bed always feels too small and the mattress is almost soaked through."

I laughed. "And whose fault is that? Besides, perhaps I don't want to share your bed tonight my lord. And aren't you meant to knock before you enter my chamber..."

I was teasing him. Even after five years of marriage Éomer was usually quite scrupulous about asking before entering my chambers. At my husband's encouragement I had long ago abandoned the pretext that our rooms were separate—indeed I spent more of my time in his than mine and he only found me in my own bed this night because Elfwine was sick and my rooms were closer to his. But no matter how many times I rolled my eyes or chastised him for making me answer his knock he only smiled.

"A woman must have her secret places Lothíriel, particularly a woman such as yourself," he had once insisted to me.

But that night he appeared to be in no mood to rise to my teasing. He was already extricating himself from underneath me. I made a little mock show of reluctance but he had as little tolerance for that as for my teasing. Quick as a snake he captured my feet and slid me to him on the bed, sliding one arm under my knees and the other under my shoulders to hoist me bodily. The night air was slightly chilly as the covers fell away but he strode quickly, opening with a foot the door that joined our chambers. On the floor there was a trail of discarded armor and clothes.

He tossed me into the bed and then pushed me over into the center so he could join me, rolling me to one side and then pulling me flush against him so that my naked back was flush against his chest from ankle to shoulder. He sighed contentedly into my ear. "That's better. Now be a good girl and tell me the news of the hall."

I started to told him about what I had found in the cellars, the most recent letter I had had from Éowyn, from Amrothos and Erchirion. I told him about Gænwyn's last visit and what she had said about all of the new commerce coming through the Dimholt but after that I knew he was asleep. With a contented sigh I shifted slightly until I was comfortable.

Even in his sleep Éomer pulled me instinctively closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this epilogue when I first wrote the story but forgot about it at the time. I only recently dug it back up as I was starting to work on a new story! It was nice to go back to this pair and see how they're doing as young parents. I hope you all enjoy it and I hope you will tune in and enjoy reading the new Éomer and Lothíriel as much as I've been enjoying writing them. The first chapter is up so please drop me a review to let me know if you like it! My life is pretty hectic but reviews are certainly motivation for more chapters sooner :) The new story is called Lothíriel Awakens. In it Lothíriel will tell us a story about unusual types of courage and the implacability of love at first sight. Love as always to LBJ for all she does to help me to be a better writer. XO Spake

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this here at the request of readers! Please let me know what you think! Reviews make me so so so so SO very happy!


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